


Nag Kath Book Three; Mortal Time

by Gelansor



Series: Nag Kath [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 147,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelansor/pseuds/Gelansor
Series: Nag Kath [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155053





	1. Earned Family

**_Chapter 1_ **

**_Earned Family_ **

Making the pass of Cirith Ungol in late afternoon was like the sun rising in the west, less than a mile to the headwaters of the Nuessan. He was back. Nag Kath couldn’t say home. He had at least two of those with friends he cherished.

About even with the waterfall to Gimli’s cascade, he dismounted and let the animals graze on the first green grass they had seen in a week. As he often did, Nag Kath sat on a mound and wrapped his arms around his knees. He was tired, no, a better word was weary. For the last eight years he had been deep in darkness, starting with the witchcraft in Dol Amroth. Then he lost Flor and the baby. He wondered if those were connected – the price of his presumption. Solace in Dale was short lived with the war on the river. The last three years were of his choosing but he felt he had been called. Nag Kath allowed himself a smile. ‘Called’ was too noble. He had been invited by the little man in the garden that never was and accepted.

Those years followed even more of hard service building the aqueduct he could see stretch from his feet to the river. It was all worth it. But now it was time to love again. He would paint and hear music. He would listen to stories shared with friends. And if Tal and Ardatha conspired to introduce lovely females, and they certainly would, he would be kind and caring.

His re-immersion into Gondor would have to be slower than usual. Nag Kath’s head was filled with political, military and economic information that must be first shared with King Elessar and Reyald as the representative of the King of Dale. It was excellent news, but everyone else had to wait.

First he had to get there. It was getting dark when he reached the compound at the base of the cascade. By an odd chance, Kemandroth was there with two of the linemen. He stayed on as the chief of the inspection crew for the run between here and the Nuessan. Problems were few and quickly fixed. Better yet, Osgiliath still had fevers but none were from drinking swamp water. The water-men had trout with bread and ale made from real wheat! When the changeling left in the morning, Kemandroth was sure he didn’t need a donkey.

They set a slow pace to Osgiliath. Even unloaded, Rosas was not built for speed. Nag Kath did not stop to see anyone. There would be plenty of time for that soon enough. Mostly he wanted to sleep in a real bed. Converting the orc to a man was a long, powerful spell, haltingly done, that left the creature writhing in pain for hours. Nag Kath was bone tired for days. Gandalf probably had no more than tingling in his hands after purging him of the Uruk-hai. He would still trade his eleven months of torment for what Ghougash endured any day.

“Oh my goodness, hello Mr. Kath! Come in, come in! Gracious, can I get you a nice mug of tea?”

“Cool, thank you Turnlie. I hope you are well.”

“Right as rain, sir. I’m glad I was here. Been looking after ma. She’s been poorly of late.” Turnlie lived-in when someone was here but she could stay where she wanted otherwise. 

Nag Kath flopped in his favorite chair and took off his travel hat. Turnlie gasped. He had forgotten his two first inches of hair would be blonde by now and the rest coal-black stringy braids. Delemantesh’s wife used a permanent dye for his Dúnedain/Easterling charade. It stung the first day but it would not wash out in the rain. That was better than cutting off the tips of his ears and hoping they grew back.

“Sorry Turnlie. I was in disguise.”

“Gave me a turn, it did.” She brought his tea and took a closer look at his clothes. “I’ll just have Remund fetch water for a nice bath.”

“That bad?”

“It is not my place to say, sir.”

Clean in fresh clothes, Nag Kath wrote a note to Reyald hoping to describe his eastern vacation with him and the King at their first convenience. Turnlie had the neighborhood handyman Remund take it to the sixth gate while her master fell face-first into his pillow.

Nag Kath had breakfast of real eggs for the first time in three years. Then he wandered down to the stables to check on Charlo and Rosas. Nepthand had them both in the main paddock since his annual lease had lapsed. As soon as a stall opened, he was first in line. And no, the stableman did not know anyone who needed the donkey. Next stop was the barber. Mr. Milldrake smiled as he considered the styling, “I am guessing you want this a bit closer than usual, Nag Kath.”

“Aye, Mill, take it back to the yellow.” It would be shorter than when he got out of the dungeon, but still easier to explain than black on blonde.

The sixth gate guards let him through on sight. Loral opened the door and said, “Oh my, Mr. Kath. Her Ladyship will be so pleased. She curtsied with a minimum of staring and led him into the main room. As the maid went to tell Ardatha, Eniecia skipped out. He picked her up like a child and kissed her forehead. Now seventeen, the young woman was past such things but this was Uncle Nag, even if clipped like a spring goat.

The girl was the very image of her great grandmother Mrs. Borenne on the lake. Only a couple inches shorter than Eniece, she somehow escaped all of the burly Northmen in her blood. Some lucky boy would appreciate that one fine day. Ardatha was out a minute later and gave him a bear hug. She ran her fingers through his hair with a sideways smile. Then she turned to Loral and said, “Ambassador Conath is expecting us. I am not sure how long we’ll be.”

Their home was above the embassy so they only had to go down a long staircase to a discreet private door. Reyald’s secretary came over and said her husband was in with the representative of Dorwinion. Polgash was a sweet fellow and important to Dale, but never brief. Her Ladyship smiled and said they would be fine in the sitting room. Ardatha explained they loved it here. She had not been a doyen in Dale on her brief visits but was making up for lost time. A genuine Princess, married to the heroic Ambassador, they cut fine figures in the capital of free peoples. She met Tal once a week to solve the problems men created. 

Shurran was learning architecture like his Uncle Nag. Vincenz of the aqueduct took private students and the lad had the best references. He also proved capable and was well along in his studies. Eniecia loved to read, and dance. She had lots of friends. They attended music and cultural events with appropriate chaperones. The acclaimed Catanard heroine Fullena Robertal had visited their class only last month! Nag Kath got the impression the girls’ parents were not grooming child-brides for the market.

Reyald showed Polgash out of his office and the man stopped to say hello to her Ladyship and the hero of Tas Surren. Reyald stayed by the door jamb. Waiting until the Dorwinrim collected his hat and stick, the Ambassador shook Nag Kath’s hand in the Northman style and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Welcome back, old friend. We are expected upstairs.” With that they made for the seventh gate. “I don’t know if you heard; Prince Imrahil died in the spring. We did not attend the memorial but the King, Queen and many from Minas Tirith and Ithilien went. That is the second ring hero gone in three years.”

Nag Kath gave that a moment, “He was a noble man. I did not meet Elphir on my trip but the Prince said all three of his sons were lordly.”

______________-------______________

King Elessar was in his study and stood to accept their bows before shaking Nag Kath’s hand himself. When they were seated and cool tea served he said, “I can only imagine the tales you have to tell.”

“Where do I begin, My Lord? The massing of troops from Khand and Rhûn was a contrivance of mine to infiltrate a warlord’s realm in Mordor. He bore a ring of power.”

Aragorn leaned back in his chair and grinned with his famous chin rub. “So; nothing to do with us?”

“I found an order of those like the little man I spoke of and we created a false embassy in Bror Dulgov’s name to Yigresh as a cover. When we told Dulgov, he agreed to go along with the scheme and meet in state with the Khagan. The ulterior motive was to make it seem they were coming for Sauron's fabled gold. As far as they knew, they were discussing trade routes and borders. They probably did. From there we conspired with the other Nûrnen warlords to destroy the Visitors and divide their lands.”

Aragorn looked at the Conaths and everyone just smiled shaking their heads. Nag Kath spent nearly an hour explaining the set-up and trap. Overall, things went well. The Visitors were eliminated for a generation, moderate Hurms now controlled the western Nûrnen, Easterlings were behaving themselves and had frightened the Assured into panic by camping on the border drinking tea.

Aragorn leaned over the low table and asked gravely, “What of the ring?”

The grin he got was on the upper scale of all Nag Kath grins. “You will enjoy this …”

“A Dwarf ring?!” 

“Aye. I threw it in a lava pit beside Orodruin on the way back. Right now, only we four know. I saw the markings inside the band. If one of your scholars could quietly show me the Angerthas runes of likely bearers, I might recognize them.”

They talked at least another half bell. Reyald and Ardatha floated few questions knowing they would get the long version shortly. Aragorn asked Nag Kath to speak with his advisors since this crossed into aspects of trade and security across his realm. Finally the King wondered, “We have only scratched the surface of matters at hand. What is your greater sense of all this, my friend?”

The Elf did his own chin pinching as the King tried to imagine him with black, braided hair. “Humility, My Lord, humility after my own presumption. Most people here think only orcs lived in Mordor. By my count, men are twenty thousand strong just around the lake, former slaves now free and trying to find their way. They are forming nations and said I am welcome back. Dulgov is ready for diplomatic relations now. If he makes friends with Yigresh; maybe him too.

“The world has changed, Sire. We think of Khand as a vast desert but with thirty five years of rain after the drought of Sauron, most of what I saw looks like Rohan. They grow their own food and horses and sheep. Merchant trains are everywhere. There are towns. It is not at all what I thought. They are joining the world of men. Mr. Tallazh said you had him gather as much military information as my poor head held after my change.” The storyteller became grave, “That said; I have seen the new face of the enemy. This lot was routed but will soon be replaced by others. Were I a Lord of the West, I would keep my ear to the rocks for signs that other relics of the dark ones are being dug from the abyss.” 

The King nodded gravely and said he would speak to the Ambassadors of Erebor and Rohan, less the news of the ring. They might be able to stand-down troops along the eastern borders. Finally Aragorn smiled saying, “I may tell Gimli. Those rings brought the Dwarves to ruin as surely as the nine. He will fume for a time, but he will understand.”

______________-------______________

The Conaths and their shorn step-father went back home for a leisurely lunch. Shurran was in class but Eniecia joined them and heard all about her grand-da’s adventures, going to Mordor three times and living to tell the tale! Since none of the western armies were on a war-footing, Nag Kath was free to explain. This would not get far. Eniecia was a sweet child but also Thain-kin and a Countess of Dale. She knew to keep politics to herself. Now here was her Uncle Nag organizing wars behind the Black Gate! The other girls could not claim that. He was to be there without fail for dinner three nights hence.

Nag Kath thought one more nap would restore him but the Bank was next to the switchback so he stopped to check his accounts. The main one had earned a little interest. Kathen Properties was accumulating rents. And the annuity account was paying out. That got his attention. He asked to see the distributions. There had been three silvers paid every month since a year ago May. Flor’s signature was on the card next to each withdrawal. 

The next day he felt fully rested. There were a few more stops he could take without risking the security of Gondor. Timalen was always up with the birds so he strolled to his home on the second level and knocked. Tim did as he always did and opened his arms wide for his old friend. Semi-retired, Marie had taken to sleeping-in so they walked down to his sculpture studio. Three men were chipping and chiseling on various sized rocks. Timalen walked over to one for a word and then came back out the door saying, “I can’t work stone anymore without wheezing so I quit before it got bad. I’m painting again and have started etching copper plates.”

“Haven’t heard of that, Tim”

“It is like making wood blocks to dye cloth but much finer. You grave the surface, put ink on it and press it into the paper, make as many as you want. Zoullhad and Son make paper good enough to lay flat. I’ll show you when we walk back. We’ll have tea at the corner and let Marie get dressed.”

Seated at a restaurant-by-day and tavern-by-night, Tim asked, “And what about you Nag? More adventures?”

“Fighting in Mordor.”

Tim made a grim smile, “You have to stop that sort of thing! You are a great artist. You inspired me. What do we need to do to get you back on the path?”

Nag Kath genuinely appreciated his oldest friend being candid. He was right. The Elf’s artistic growth stopped somewhere in Dale. Architecture was a form, but not mastery of expression. He humbly said, “I decided to do that on my way here. I showed you those watercolors from the Elves, maybe something like that. I have some extraordinary sketches of the Variag capital and folk there. I should have brought them. Paintings will astound.”

Tim nodded that his point was taken, “Good man, Nag. Gondor is ready for the real you.” Marie was still sleeping so the copper plates could wait. Nag Kath waved without going in and walked up to the fourth. 

______________-------______________

“Hello Mrs. Tippi.”

“Good morning Mr. Kath. You’ve changed your hair.”

“Always at the forefront of style, Mrs. Tippi.”

“Very good. I’ll tell Mrs. Talereth you are here.” 

As the maid went down the hall, Ectillion came out of the kitchen for a hearty handshake. “Nag Kath, my friend. Been back long?”

“Just got here. I would never be forgiven if I didn’t check-in with Tal.”

“I know the feeling. Forgive me but I was just leaving to meet my board of counselors.” He leaned in confidentially and added, “Old retired friends talking away from our wives. It is a regular group.” With a wink he took his hat from the peg and strolled into the street.

Tal was out a minute later and offered her hands to kiss, “Oh you terrible man, coming before I have time to put on my face. You’re sporting a new look. Did you see Ecc?”

“Yes, he had a counselors meeting.”

“Hummph. Sit down. Back long?”

“Got here two days ago. Saw Ardatha yesterday but I’ve spent most of the time sleeping.”

She knew that meant he had pushed himself but would let him explain later. “Life is good, Nag. Ecc can see far away but has trouble reading so I read to him at night.” She whispered, “I have half-spectacles.” In her usual tone, “The children are fine. Ecc junior works at Ecc’s old company. Ectilla draws pictures for children’s books. People are spoiling their kids these days.” Tal proceeded to tell her former love all of the provable gossip on the upper levels of the White City. He watched her face the whole time. She was a formidable woman, always had been. 

As her ramble wound down she observed, “Quiet as always, Nag. What have you been doing these three years?”

“I destroyed a dark army in Mordor.”

She giggled and said, “No, I mean really.” He sat stock still. “Oh.”

Her expression showed deep care, “Nag, do we get you back? Have you gone so far that you can’t have parties and shoot rockets and be with us?”

He grinned, partly to reassure her, “No, not too far. On my way back I decided to do just that. I’m going to take some time to do things I left behind. Timalen inspired me this very morning. You aren’t rid of me yet.”

Tal hated to pour water on that flame but this was better coming from her, “She’s back.”

“I know. The Bank showed me the payments.”

She said softly, “That was sweet of you.”

“We are not all dark Lords. And no one bargains for what they get with me.”

Tal folded her hands in her lap saying, “I saw her three, four months ago. She looks good. I think there’s a man, someone who doesn’t need her stipend. You know how it is; it is hard to pretend so much water hasn’t flowed under the bridge, but we talked for a minute and waved goodbye. It still seems so raw.”

“I am sure I will run into her. Someone I need to visit next is Amiedes.”

“Sorry, Nag. He died in the spring. His cold came back. Nouri said he was ready to go, made it to ninety. He loved you too.” Tal started to cry. What was it about this creature that inspired such feeling? “Well, just look at me, weeping like a child! Teldamir is the King’s Vice Chancellor now. Your water men landed on their feet. It was the making of Ectilla too.” 

She set her face, “Now; what’s this fuss about your statue?”

Nag Kath stopped at Tallazh’s house on the third before returning home. What must be a great grandchild opened the door and stared up at the giant with hair like a dandelion. Nouri came out and smiled. Hugging was not a custom in their household but the emotion was there just the same. She had looked after her father for so many years. With quiet strength, “Hello Nag Kath. I am glad you have come. Would you like tea?

“Thank you, Nouri, I’ve had as much as I can hold today. I just wanted to pay my respects and wish you well.”

“He liked you, you know. He told stories about you, though never so often that people weren’t entertained. Are you back for a while?”

“I believe so, thought I will visit Dale. And sometimes my plans are not my own.”

“Good. My nephew Teldamir works for the King now. I hope you see him.”

“Probably the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh, Amiedes left something for you. I’ll just get it.” She returned with a small, carved box. Inside was the letter written by the tailor in Trum Dreng introducing Tal and Mrs. Skilleth. He could read it now.

______________-------______________

The Elf settled in. He visited Tim again to see his home studio and the copper plates. It was painstaking. Tim had a pair of spectacles made to make things seem very large and plowed tiny grooves in the soft metal where the ink shouldn’t go. Nag Kath didn’t remember seeing anything that looked like spectacle glass when he melted the Dwarf ring but it was said to be found on the other side of the mountain, a hard journey. For the first week, he might dash off to the palace for reasons he couldn’t say and then return to ordinary things. 

Dinner with the Conath’s was always a pleasure. Shurran enjoyed his studies. Eniecia smiled but was still quite shy. She was mildly mortified when he reminded her he used to hold her in her blanket. Tal and Ecc had him up for dinner with two couples about their age. Suspicious of Tal’s notorious matchmaking, he smiled thinking they might have to ask someone’s daughter along for romance. His original friends were now pushing sixty or better. 

Once the King’s men were briefed, Nag Kath saddled up and visited Tumlen in Osgiliath. He was still in his twenties and a fine man. Business was good. Nag Kath transferred another hundred Florin into the southeast branch of Kathen Properties for Tum to buy more property. It was just sitting in the bank. He had half that much mortared under his downstairs stove.

The original house here had been rented so Nag Kath took a room in the Great River Inn and spent some time wandering the city for the first time as a tourist. The healing section where the old witch died was the smallest of three; two on this side and one in the west. He visited them all. No one seemed to be in the inductive healing business these days. Considering how that had gone, you probably needed secret incantations for an introduction.

He was sitting on a bench by the quay waiting for a shop to open when he saw Hermad Murgrander speaking to a stevedore by one of the small barges that plied north of the city. The furrier saw him and was stock-still for a few seconds. Then he walked over and said, “Good morning Mr. Kath.”

The Elf stood to shake his hand, “Good morning Mr. Murgrander.” The ex-husbands were silent for another moment when Nag Kath added, “Please, have a seat.”

Hermad did and they both looked at the water. After a long but not uncomfortable while, Murgrander said softly, “There is a certain freedom when released from what has always been expected – what we are supposed to do against what calls to us. I am better for this, even if you do not approve.”

“No, I do not mind. We must embrace love, however it finds us. I wish it didn’t have to be so painful.”

The fur trader gave that some thought with a wistful smile, “It would not have the same value. Bonds are too strong to sever without upset. They have to mean that much.”

“My expectations are still a work in progress. I am yet many leagues from understanding.”

“I am sorry for your child, Mr. Kath.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murgrander. I hope your future brings you peace.” 

He was able to find an uncommon ingredient for Lembas that men occasionally used for liniment. A few people recognized him from the aqueduct but most did not know or care. Popular performers would be distraught. Nag Kath was glad to let someone else be famous. He would be Kath of Mordor for another generation. They could add that to the list. The changeling did drop by to see Sepulvath who consulted on private water lines. The rotund water manager always had tea steeping and would organize another aqueduct reunion in the fall. He should have a statue too. 

There were artists here, lots of them. Some painted, some sculpted. Some decorated homes by painting trailing flowers around door jambs and window frames like Trum Dreng. Those were painted on both sides of garden walls where real flowers grew in season. The Elf watched a young man carry several brushes between his knuckles to make the vines and leaves and others to draw petals or butterflies as he went rather than returning to do the other colors later. They spoke for a while and the fellow said the paint was pitch-based so it wouldn’t wash off but it took at least a week to dry. Nag Kath got his card.

With more open space than Minas Tirith, restaurants often had patios bordering on the street that were boarded in winter. There was always some sort of festival or event. At one wine-house, men mortified their wives by singing Catanales out of tune. The place felt freer than the White City, fewer Kings glowering from tapestries, he supposed. Nag Kath thought about having Tum get him another house but liked the bustle of the inn. He even smiled at a young woman who looked his way.

Back home, Nag Kath took his easel to the very bench where he was accosted by the three soldiers. This was still the yarn and thread district. Women spent their time spinning or dying wool or plant threads waiting for buyers. He still had the bolt of Ko-ton if it hadn’t molded. It had been a while since the Elf tried watercolors and he forgot the way these paints drip at the wrong angle. The third attempt was fairly successful. An old crone, wrapped head to toe in dark woolens, was haggling with a younger woman in summer clothes. He hoped they wouldn’t come to terms until he froze the image.

There was a commitment to honor. The Elf walked down to the second north of the prow and visited the Scholar Vientis. From the black lands he had more information about the ancient symbols and what they meant. Tea took two hours.

______________-------______________

Before he knew it, it was militia time. Nag Kath taught boys the fundamentals of archery with cloth-tipped arrows. They were still dangerous little fellows, shooting each other’s bottoms and using the toy bows for sword practice. The tykes couldn’t take more than an hour at a time so he shot with the Reunited Second Infantry and rode in formation twice with Captain Bessandal’s unit just like on the trip to the Shire.

It had to happen. Going up the first switchback after target practice he walked straight at Florice and a well-dressed man of about forty heading down to the market. He bowed and said, “Hello Flor.”

She froze for a moment and then replied tentatively, “Hello Nag. Heard you were back.”

The Elf introduced himself to the man who would certainly know who he was. The fellow shook hands confidently and said he was Wenyurd Ostourn. He also had the presence-of-mind to proudly say, “My militia days are over but I carried the pike for the Regald Line.”

The Elf smiled and said, “I volunteer teaching the little ones not to shoot each other. It does not always work.”

Ostourn added, “Say, that’s a Northman bow, isn’t it?”

“Aye. It has seen hard service. I should probably get another if I can find one here.”

“Can’t help you there, Mr. Kath.” Looking to his fair lady, “Shall we, my dear?”

On the way home he thought that could have gone worse. The woman had probably been dreading a public humiliation. Instead, Nag Kath and her new man talked pleasantly about bows and arrows. He was glad it amounted to so little as well. He told Tal and Ardatha as much at one of the lordly restaurants on the fifth. The latest fashion was Dol Amroth cooking, but with Lustigga fish from North Ithilien. He could finally eat what the girls did.

Ardatha sympathized, “Hard to take, Nag?”

“It gives me pause, but no. If the Rohirrim could forgive me, I can forgive her … a good habit for such as me.”

“Do you miss her?”

Tal asked him the same three years ago. He said thoughtfully, “I miss being in love, all the little things that remind you of another. It is hard knowing I must say goodbye, like with your ma.”

Always helpful, Tal asked, “Could you visit one of the Elvish cities to seek a wife?”

Nag smiled very slowly for that. “I have not learned the patience to gauge time the way they do.”

Tal scolded, “Nag! You say something elegant that means little.”

“Nay, my dear, it is considerable.” He brightened for the upcoming yarn, “Imagine this; you both rose today looking forward to talking about things that are changing, of life, interesting to you. Things must change even if only because they must end.

“Now imagine that Ardatha asks you what you are doing today and you say you will be squashing acorns into Lembas patties for the next thousand years, just like you did the last thousand.” He had a sip, warming to his subject, “I see the world as you do. I could not shop for a female in Lorien, fair though they are, and then say; ‘Let us away to the world of men! We will see low Catanard and dine with friends. Bring a soft blanket on our picnic for I will take you in my arms!’ Oh no, ladies, you both know I am not one to wait hundreds of years for such warmth.” 

He grinned. Tal knew the heat of his passion and Ardatha must have gleaned as much from her satisfied mother. More eloquently than he imagined, he just told them a great deal. Ardatha thought of Eniece, more daughter than mother in some ways. The love of his life, she had many chances to walk away on her own terms. She had a couple of times. When she chose him, she accepted that which was known and the unknowns that would certainly follow.

Tal, chief instigator in romance, thought to match him with someone as beautiful as him. There were few such women, even in Minas Tirith. Unlike with Eniece, Nag and Flor’s love grew in confinement. Florice never made a decision in her life. As much as she loved him, and he her, and poor Helien most of all, when the pressure of what could never be overwhelmed her, Flor chose tragically and broke both of their hearts.

He said more gently, “You see, dearest Tal, I am best served by someone who is confident and has already lived some life, someone who greets the day for the joy it brings.” He touched her chin the way he did in Trum Dreng. “Please do not worry for me.” Looking at Ardatha next, “Nor you, dearest daughter. I am finding my way.”

______________-------______________

Newly minted ‘Kath of the Nûrnen’ needed a project. He had been at the core of the most important struggles in decades, deeper and darker than most men could imagine. Folk who had heard gave him a wide berth on the switchbacks. Tal asked him herself if the mortal world would hold him. He was painting and sketching and doing lots of little things but his attention drifted. Riding Charlo helped. A return letter from Brenen helped. Turnlie singing as she cooked helped. He blessed them all.

Nag Kath visited Tim and tried his hand at carving the copper plates. His first effort was sorry. Timalen told him it was hard to think the opposite of how the ink would appear. In a larger scale, the artist began the pencil lines to do oil paintings of the Khandian capital Ûbésêsh. There was nothing like it in western minds.

An herb he bought for coughs mildewed so the changeling wandered to the north-first for more. On this side of the prow, the northern edge of the switchback was carved away leaving a bleak wall of stone that only got summer light. He paced it at seventy feet long by twelve to perhaps twenty high at its highest along the rise.

Walking past spawned a thought. The space against the wall was only used by peddlers at occasional trade fairs. Nag Kath stared with his hands on his hips for several minutes and then ran two steps at a time up the short-cuts to the sixth level garden Flor liked so much. Those flowers and bushes were bare but in his mind’s eye, he imagined just how it would look. That night he furiously sketched, throwing many pages over his shoulder until he had something to take to Tim on the morrow.

______________-------______________

“Let me get this straight; you are going to paint a garden on the side of the prow?”

Nag Kath grinned, “The whole thing, from end to end.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s ugly.”

“I think that’s brilliant! Who is going to pay for it?”

“Me.”

“That’s a lot of money, Nag.”

“I’m rich. And expenses have been low lately. I settled Rhun, Khand and Mordor for something under twenty Florin after Dale paid me back for the fish.”

“All right, I’m in. What do you need?”

“I need to get the paint formula from that young fellow in Osgiliath. The scaffolding and such will be left over from the aqueduct. Feel like a trip to see my statue?”

That afternoon Nag Kath paid a call on Teldamir. It had only been a couple weeks since the Mordor meeting but the man always gave him a hearty handshake. Teldamir was busy but the Elf only needed his blessing and the name of the city works manager. Ignoldon was busy too but when Kath of the Nûrnen, nee Water, came to call, he got all the time he wanted. A goodly number of his best men apprenticed on the aqueduct. When the Elf said he wanted to paint a garden on the rock next to the grain market, Ignoldon said it was fine with him and he would break the scaffolding out of storage.

The Elf hired a nag for Tim from the first level paddock since Rosas was given to Remund to haul firewood. The horse wasn't much faster. They stopped by to see Tumlen who was having lunch with his lady. Artist and property manager had met many times and got on well. Then they tracked down the wall decorator who was between jobs and at home.

Nag Kath was known as a builder but Tim was the most famous artist in the land. The fellow’s name was Feurgil and he thrilled to meet the sculptor. The young painter was entirely self-taught. Single and living with his parents, he was all for selling the secrets of his pitch-paint recipe. It was better to buy ingredients in Osgiliath and mix them in Minas Tirith else they dry too fast so Feurgil was hired full-time. 

First came the planning. Nag Kath rented the space next to Tim’s sculpting works and had Feurgil tack sheets of paper over an entire wall. They used those as grids for his master sheet of the garden. This was how most landscape painters did things. The Elf hadn’t, but there would be no doing this mural by eye. Feurgil and Nag Kath transferred the grids from the master over the next week and then took another week coloring them in with ordinary paints, often changing colors and even whole sheets if the original idea failed.

While they were busy, four former water men were hired to erect scaffolding and a tent awning as high as the mural would go. Feurgil explained the pitch paint would not run with water but it would get gummy and never dry right. The work would have to be protected from rain and snow the whole time layers were going on. In Dale they would have to wait until spring but here, it would dry in two or three weeks.

Feurgil had to find enough ingredients to make large batches of white and blue paint because the image was mostly sky. Nag Kath hired a wagon to fetch supplies from the river. The same four men then washed and brushed the wall. Spikes were hammered into the stone at both ends so strings could be stretched between them as the guides to recreate the drawing grids. Folk wandered by and stared but then went about their business. This was the most commercial of commercial districts so none of the gentle society was ever within shouting distance.

All the while, Nag Kath kept seeing the Conath’s for dinner, or Tal and Ardatha for tea at the little restaurant where they held court. Shurran occasionally came down to look at the project. The two of them were growing closer. Nag Kath wondered if the second heir would stay here or return to Dale. There would be work for architects in both places. Eniecia still enjoyed her friends and learning but was quiet at meals. Nag Kath asked Shurran on one of his visits if she was well. As older brothers are required to do, he said she was just being moody but too old for him to pull her pigtails.

Nag Kath received a notice from the new Prince Elphir of Dol Amroth’s scribe that he, as a knight of the Principality, would have his name carved in a new monument near the commercial harbor. There must be a forty of those being sent to surviving knights. What made this interesting was the messenger was Caladrion, son of Durnalath. He had shown true colors fighting Umbar pirates. The new Ambassador was also a respected Marine and brought him as his aide. Cal, as he was called, couldn’t stay long but they agreed they would see more of each other when the embassy staff was settled.

It was time to draw! Tim showed Feurgil how to take the single sheets of paper from the shop wall and enlarge them to scale on the side of the prow. Self-taught or no, that took Feurgil no time to learn. Nag Kath made a few changes as they went and drew the lower segments where the flowers would go. Most of the top would be sky with clouds. It took eight days to charcoal-in the main lines, just in time to quit for the first snow storm of the year. It did not accumulate but this was a good time to rest and let the young man visit his family.

Nag Kath had other important responsibilities as well. Syndolan invitations were already sent. Folk were engaged for food, music and beverages. Nag Kath had to use the last of his firework powder in time for Feurgil to take them to Tumlen for the barge in Osgiliath. 

______________-------______________

A week before the party, a terrible row was barely contained above the Embassy of Dale.

“What you suggest is impossible! I will not have you even thinking such a thing!”

“I don’t care, mother. I love him. I always have. We are meant for each other! Can’t you see?”

“No, not at all! You will put this foolishness out of your mind.”

Eniecia was crying, “I cannot. It is all I think about. You married for love. Can you not understand?”

“This is different. You cannot be in love with your grandfather! Such things are not done. You haven’t told him …” Ardatha was beside herself. What had the child done? Her shy, beautiful daughter was smitten by the handsome, heroic Elf who happened to be Ardatha’s step-father. After he bared his soul at the café, innocent Eniecia was not going to fill the bill!

Eniecia stood silently as Ardatha shook her head. The Princess composed herself and restarted her question, “Have you told him this?”

“I dare not, mother. But how could he not know?”

Mother doubted that. Reyald said he was a brilliant strategist. He was very sensitive to his woman’s needs. But he was famously witless when it came to females who were interested in him. Ardatha said firmly but not meanly, “You are confined to the house. We will tell your friends you are indisposed until we cure you of this madness.”

Her daughter trudged to her room bearing the weight of the world.

Reyald walked upstairs after a hard day's diplomacy. His wife was sitting in the main room with her hands clenched, face grim. “What is it darling bride? You look like you just fought a balrog.”

When she looked up and said nothing, he knew it was serious. Usually a servant would be here if he wanted tea or something stronger. Cook and Loral were in the kitchen, pretending they weren’t listening to every word. The Ambassador sat down. Ardatha spoke softly and evenly, “Our daughter has announced she is in love with Nag Kath, says she always has been.”

Reyald was quiet for a few moments before saying, “And what does he have to say about that?”

“He doesn’t know. This is from our child’s own brain.”

The man sighed, “Well, there’s that.”

“The silly girl said she has been mooning over da for years. It is why she is so quiet around him.”

“What do you need from me, dear wife?”

“Comfort her. I need to talk to Nag.”

Ardatha had been sitting in the main room of Nag Kath’s house for an hour before he walked-in covered in charcoal and paint smears. She rose for her hug but he offered a peck on the cheek so she wouldn’t be coated in dust. She was not here to chat. He gave Turnlie the look that there must be something she needed at the market and the cook excused herself. “What is it, dear daughter?”

Ardatha was not the sort to hem or haw, “Eniecia says she is in love with you and always will be.”

“Hmmm, be right back.” He trotted up the stairs and was back in a minute, barefoot with a clean shirt and trousers. “And how long has this eternal match gone on?”

Both of them sat down but he immediately rose and poured a mug of tea. Ardatha answered, “Years, evidently. That’s why the daft child never says anything when you visit.” 

“Can't you tell her I am evil?” She just looked at him. He might be Sauron, but what was that to young love? He said softly, “What must I do?”

Ardatha sat for the longest time. What was there? Other than being cruel, which she knew he would not do, this would just have to go away. Finally she took in a large breath before saying, “I’m not sure, Nag.”

“I could talk to her. How much does she know about me?”

“Most of it. It doesn’t matter. Your disguise is that you are what you seem. Her grandmother loved you. How bad can you be?”

“Does she love anyone else?”

“No.”

“I suppose I could disappear for a couple years.”

That was less absurd from him than anyone else. Ardatha considered it for a moment and said, “We will talk to her. If needs be, I am glad you will as well.”

He asked, “Have you spoken with Tal? She is very clever about such things.”

“I just learned and walked down here. We have our weekly tea Thursday morning. I am not sure I am ready for that. Nag, Eniecia is confined to the residence. If she comes here, be sweet and bring her home, else she wanders where she shouldn’t.”

The determined woman showed herself out.

______________-------______________

Stealing rings from fell lords was child’s play compared to not hurting his grand-daughter’s feelings. The Elf wracked his brain for signs the girl was infatuated. She was quiet and polite, no glances, no Tilli feet. Poor Ardatha and Reyald!

Whatever they needed, he would do. Until then, Feurgil should have started the sky blue paint. That was the hardest color to mix and most of the mural. Every bit of dye they found was not enough but should last two weeks. Tim painted the browns for stems and trees. Fuergil got the sky and clouds from the scaffold. Nag Kath did greens and the colored flowers. People stopped to watch. Soldiers slowed for a look. With the scaffolding in the way, they might be repairmen shoring the switchback. Closer to the rock it looked like one could just walk onto the path. Tim painted a white picket fence along the bottom to keep people from getting flat noses. Two days before Syndolan Eve they quit work for a week. Nag Kath had things to do at the house. Tim had paying business to complete. Fuergil would stay for the party and then go home.

Still nothing from Ardatha. She and Reyald would be at the King’s party. That was part of his job. The last time Nag Kath threw one of these, their children came down by themselves. It was too late to plan around that. His job was to buy the ale and break-up fights.

Everything went fine. Inviting Dwarves was always easy but Hobbits were scarce. The same musicians came from the last time and they helped people sing with the lyrics Nag Kath wrote years ago. Tumlen and Antille surprised them. Turnlie put them in Flor’s old room. Tal and Ecc arrived at their usual time. He was a gem. The man who made Talereth happy was the best of men. As usual, Nag and Tal sat bundled on the porch waiting for the King’s fireworks. Ecc was telling old stories to old friends inside. She rocked her feet forward and back asking, “Have you heard from Ardatha?”

“Not since she was here. I’ve missed our dinners.”

Tal sighed, “Poor thing.”

“Which one?”

“Eniecia, of course. Ardatha is tough as leather.”

“She will think of something. You got over me. Eniecia will.”

Tal giggled and said, “That wasn’t easy but there are plenty of fish in the lake.”

Nag Kath looked her in the eyes, “You will tell me if I need to do something intelligent, won’t you?”

She rose to get warm inside, “Of course. We can’t leave things like that to chance.”

The Syndolan songs were sung again. Musicians retuned their instruments at the request of folk who wanted to sing Catanales, all the rage, it seemed. At the conclusion of the Lament for Osour, a beautiful voice near the front door held the phrase just a moment longer. Nag Kath looked over and saw Caladrion. He wasn’t needed for rubbing shoulders on the seventh and took the Elf up on his invitation.

Nag Kath stood by Ecc who fancied himself a singer and was enjoying himself. When the young man arrived, his host clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I should have hoped someone from your land would do that song justice!”

“Nay, I am the weak sister compared to the best.”

“Good enough for here! Caladrion, these are Ectelliad and Talereth Toroldinar, two of my oldest friends. Ecc, Tal, this is Caladrion Ivandred who is seconded from Dol Amroth with the Ambassador. Glad you could come.”

“Thank you for inviting me. There was another gathering on the sixth but I could not imagine it being as merry as yours, especially after our Elvish adventure!”

The Toroldinars insisted on the full story of that little escapade which, as usual, escaped Nag Kath’s telling. The Elf introduced Cal to people his own age and the young man stayed another hour before saying goodnight.

After the ten-bell, people started collecting their wraps and making for bed. As Tal and Ecc were leaving she said, “Nice young man.”

“Cal? Yes, he is the nephew of Thain Durnaldar. His cousin is marrying Prince Elfwine this summer, or so I am told.”

Tal looked at him, her husband and Nag Kath again before sighing, “Honestly, you two are as thick as slurry.” They could only agree and said goodnight.

______________-------______________

The mural was coming along. Yellow paints would not dry so they had to scrape them off and try a new batch. Overall, there was progress. People of the first level north of the prow showed interest as it started to look like a picture.

A week later, the painting was complete. There had still not been any official interest or comment. Nag Kath did it for the people who walked by every day so that was fine by him. He gave Feurgil four nippers which was an astonishing amount of money for the young man. Tim would keep him in mind for future work. Altogether the project cost almost three Florin. The artists cleverly hid their chops in the mural for others to find if they looked.

They had to leave the awning up for another few weeks but after the scaffolding was removed, small crowds of merchants and tradesmen gathered round during the day. None of them had ever seen the sixth level garden. By purest chance, King Elessar was leaving for his farm in Lossarnach that morning and saw a throng before he turned for the gate. He trotted over with six of his troopers. It had been a very long time since an artist had done other than carve stern men frowning at the horizon. Folk in the crowd bowed deeply and one shouted, “Thank you for a fair garden in winter, Lord King!” Everyone cheered the same and he fared them well as he joined his larger escort. Now, who might have done this?

Marshal Ethorlad, Ambassador of Rohan, was the purest of Rohirrim in every way, wise in knowing rugged sensibilities of the Mark did not always play well in diplomatic circles. Here in Minas Tirith almost three years, his wife Jourwyn minded the female side of embassy gracefully and occasionally attended Tal’s little klatches. Wouldn’t it be lovely if Rohan would host a party for diplomatic families, a few staff and friends? It could be less formal than the recent royal function and help the new representatives from Dol Amroth, Anfalas and Arnor ease into the White City. Odd that so many new folk came all at once! Invitations went out for the fifteenth of January. 

The Dwarves would come in force. They love parties and were closer to Rohan in outlook than many mannish nations. Captain and Mrs. Vertandigir, newly arrived from Dol Amroth, were delighted and would come with their ten year-old son and their aide. Ambassador Featherstaff of the Shire always loved a gathering and would bring small presents for everyone, even though told that wasn’t necessary. He and his wife would also introduce the new folk from Arnor personally. Chamberlain Vestule and his family would represent Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn of Ithilien. And one could always count on Ambassador Polgash of Dorwinion and his lovely wife Fuscia for good company. 

Kath of Mordor was not invited, needed or wanted, even though he had done all of the diplomatic work among the former enemies. Those who knew kept that quiet. He was in Osgiliath anyway and knew nothing of the affair.

The Conath’s brought lovesick Eniecia with Ecc and Tal as guests. The Toroldinars knew half the room already and were always the perfect examples of White City folk. Lady Jourwyn was accounted a splendid hostess. Everyone had a fine time. Mr. Polgash supplied a small cask of private-reserve red wine, Fourth Age 26 if you must know, to the enjoyment of many. 

When Nag Kath got back from the river there was a letter waiting in Eniecia’s flawless handwriting.

**_Dearest Uncle Nag,_ **

**_Please forgive me for my lamentable inattention to my loving grandfather. I have not been myself but all is right now. My studies go well. With work I will start new classes in March. We all hope to see you for dinner again when your schedule permits._ **

**_With all best wishes, dutiful Eniecia_ **

****

He put the letter on the table and asked, “Turnlie, do you remember who delivered this?”

“Fortain from Ambassador Conath’s, Mr. Kath.” Ardatha, more like. Good! Hopefully the girl was over her infatuation. He would not know it for a while but the new aide from Belfalas made quite an impression. 


	2. Matrimony at the Highest Level

**_Chapter 2_ **

**_Matrimony at the Highest Level_ **

There were two large stirrings for royal watchers in year 32 of the Fourth Age. The first was the wedding of Prince Elfwine, heir to the throne of Rohan, and Tillieth, daughter of Thain Durnaldar of Nauthauja. This was not a strategic marriage in the old sense. With only three countries left in the free world, there weren’t a lot of treaties left to sign. Dynastic unions were still fashionable in the provinces and among lords of commerce. The couple was marrying for love after an almost four year courtship on the second of June. King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel liked the young woman and that carried the day. 

The other news was that Bain of Dale would wed Xondra, daughter of Beatru Manzanard of Dale. This marriage had no strategic value at all, but the two had known each other for years and it was time to tie the knot. Her family was at the top of Dalish society from both cavalry and business. Xondra was a lovely and loving young lady, friend to Brenen’s younger girl. Those nuptials were set for the following spring.

For reasons unknown to Nag Kath, he was invited to the Rohan wedding. This would be the largest gathering of nobles in Middle-earth since Bard’s memorial. It would also be cramped. The City of Dale could accommodate quite a few lords but Edoras was a rough wooden fort. Perhaps they had time to build quarters, for it was a sure bet Arwen and Aragorn would not be bunking with Dornlas. Shurran came down to Uncle Nag’s house with a question on architecture. Turnlie gave them both tea and started preparing the evening meal. Nag Kath mused, “Have you heard your cousin is getting hitched?”

“Mother has known for a while. I hope they have a dozen boys.”

The Elf teased, “You don’t want to be King?”

“Not really, though I would be better at it than I thought when we came here. He gave his grandfather a knowing look, “No accident; that.”

“When you shoo the pigeons away, you look a lot like the statue of grand-da Brand in Girion’s Courtyard.”

Shurran smiled and pointed at his face, “It’s the nose. I would have to let the beard grow out.”

The young man was nineteen now and kept his beard and hair in the White City fashion. He was also maturing into his legacy. Nearly as tall as his father and still growing, he had the size and strength you expect from your Northmen. As a guest in Gondor militia training, he handled all of his weapons well and could ride like the wind. Nag Kath thought his parents underestimated the boy back in Buhr Austar but they now knew he had just developed slowly.

Shurran said, “Haven’t seen you for dinner in a while.”

“Invite me.”

“Thursday, then?”

“Gladly. How is your sister?”

Shurran gave that a little thought before answering, a bit like Uncle Nag that way, “She was off her feed for a few months but now she dances about the house humming Catanales. She is a good dancer.”

“Good, I was worried.”

Shurran smiled, “She said she wanted to be a performer for historical dance pageants. Mother reminded her that those ladies don’t always enjoy the best reputations.”

Nag Kath smiled remembering the fifth-level clubs, “I like dancers. But Eniecia is a Princess, no Countess. I suppose there are things they can’t do before the right marriage. Elfwine is taken. Are you all going to the wedding?”

“Oh yes. Da needs to meet King Bain. I am sure Torrold and Gerda will come with him, not sure about Haldiera with her little ones. I may go home. Great grandmother must be lonely and old Conath is failing.”

Uncle Nag said, “I will go with you then. I have a few things to attend on the way. Then there is Brenen’s side of the family and no one can get him on a horse. Stay the winter for your cousin’s wedding in the spring. That is convenient if you have things to fill the time.”

Shur nodded, “It is. I do not know if the royals here will attend that in force with two trips north after Prince Imrahil’s farewell last spring. King Bain may want it that way. He can introduce Xondra in Rohan without stealing too much thunder. 

Nag Kath veered slightly, “And how about you, Count Shurran? Any Princesses lined out your door?”

“Not yet. We keep that side of things quiet. Around here, what foreigner isn’t some sort of penniless lord? Friends always introduce me to friends but I haven’t done much about it. I am not sure where I will be in three years. And you? Ma or Tal plotting?”

“Always, but lately I think they have been sentries.”

Shurran rubbed his chin, “Protecting your reputation from dancers?”

“Umhum.” 

The young man grinned, “Then I think you are off the hook, grand-da – thrown-over for someone new.”

“So I don’t have to skulk in Mordor?”

“Not any more. Come to dinner and see.”

Dinner was pleasant. Eniecia spoke more than Uncle Nag had ever heard before. Her animation made him realize just how beautiful she would be. Reyald and Ardatha seemed to be at ease so they could line-through this chapter on their ledger slate. Looking at his grand-daughter made him think again of the picture of the Queen in the magistry. When the conversation lagged he asked, “Reyald, Ardatha, have you ever been to the little courtroom in the palace, the one just off the corridor from the staff offices?”

Reyald was the more frequent palace guest so he answered, “I have not, Nag. We usually visit on the other side.”

“You should see it. That was where I was interrogated. There is a painting in the room of a King of Gondor, and his wife. I don’t know which. Her face is the very image of Ardatha’s grandmother and now Eniecia in her turn.”

Eniecia asked softly, “She is just like me, grandfather?”

“Very close. That is why I am an artist. I saw it again a few months ago. After all those years, the image stayed true in my mind. It made me wonder of the gift of mortal life, that maybe some people are so special they keep returning so everyone is the better for their presence.”

Ardatha’s first thought was that comparing her romantic young daughter to a timeless beauty might not be the way to quash the girl’s ardor, but as she chewed she wondered if sometimes she took her step-father too lightly. How could he not think differently than everyone else? He must already know more than they could imagine. 

The Princess dabbed her lips with the cloth and said, “With the King and Queen’s leave, we will make a point of visiting.”

______________-------______________

Minas Tirith was collecting a sizeable contingent of wedding guests. Dol Amroth had blood ties to the couple. Queen Lothíriel of the Mark was the sister of Prince Elphir and first cousin to Prince Faramir. Éowyn was Elfwine’s aunt so the young man was bracketed on both sides. If Lady Durnalath came, she was aunt to Tilli and her son Caladrion was already here.

The Dol Amroth contingent arrived first, having allowed for weather they did not get. That gave them ten days to take their leisure in the White City. Their train included Elphir himself, his wife Fortunal and their son Alphros. With them were Durnalath and her husband Captain Legorn Ivandred, a highly-decorated Marine. When word reached Emyn Arnen, Faramir and Éowyn came sooner than expected with their daughter to enjoy the company from the coast and prepare for the ride north.

This would not be one of Aragorn’s sprints. All counted there were something like thirty eight guests, at least that many servants or aides and sixty troopers watching anything that moved. Wagons carried tents, food and lordly apparel. Some carried the lords as well. Not all were seasoned horse travelers or used to roughing-it like their ranger Liege. That was not a problem for the riders of Buhr Austar. Of all her friends, Eniecia was the only horsewoman. Uncle Nag joined the family and a retainer from the embassy staff at the gate as the rest of the train trickled down from the upper level.

It was Nag Kath’s habit not to greet everyone at once. This would probably be a ten or eleven day trip. Nods and smiles would be enough until there was time for hellos and the mysterious traveler usually made some people nervous. He did know quite a few of the troopers so when he wasn’t riding with the family, he joined the flanking scouts to pass the time. The first night was not an ideal campsite so most people stayed in their tents balming sores and reminding themselves they were too old for this sort of thing.

The following afternoon while Nag Kath and Shurran were scouting gullies for little more than ground squirrels, Caladrion rode alongside the Conaths and introduced his parents. It was understood that Durnalath held no blame for the witchcraft and the Conaths were now on the best of terms with her brother Thain Durnaldar now on his way from Nauthauja. 

Captain Ivandred’s reputation as a soldier was known among those who matter. Dol Amroth was still fighting pirates along the coast even while the rest of the Reunited Kingdom was enjoying the Peace of the King. There was considerable Dúnedain in the man. Eniecia smiled at first but then looked like she had been bitten by the Mouth of Sauron when the young aide talked only with the grown-ups. The sun then shined on her face when he said, “And it is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Eniecia. I hope your journey is fair and free of incident.”

She had still never said more than 'hello' to the young man but the lass hummed Catanales the rest of the day.

When the outriders were recalled, Nag Kath and Shurran found the other Conaths in folding chairs outside their tent waiting for dinner. Travelers were welcome to cook their own food but the quartermaster of Gondor would have much better than stew for this noble cortege. When cookie rang the bell, servants lined-up to take food to their masters. A few of those masters were among them including former rangers King Elessar and Prince Faramir. Both men carried their plates and forks while wandering through the campsite saying hello, starting with the Ambassador of Dale.

Everyone rose and bowed. Lord Aragorn finished chewing and muttered, “This is good.” More loudly, “Pray, be seated. One can count on our friends from Dale to handle the road.”

Faramir called across the fire, “Good to see you again, Nag Kath. It has been a while.”

“Not since before the mural, Your Highness.” Both knew they would talk later.

Reyald stepped forward and said, “My Lords, may I introduce my children, Shurran and Eniecia.” He left out the Lord and Lady. These men knew exactly who and what they were. They shook hands and were glad to meet them. Princess Éowyn strolled through camp looking for her husband and joined them for another round of introductions. She walked up to Eniecia and looked at her face very closely saying, “I cannot help but think I have seen you before, child. The King stepped forward with a glimmer of recognition.

Faramir solved the riddle, “In the magistry, the old picture of King Turambal and Queen Nepthat. I used to hide in there when I was a lad. Young lady, he could have painted you in her place.”

The Maiden of Dale smiled demurely saying, “I hope to see it. Folk tell me I am the image of my great-grandmother as well.”

Faramir turned to Shurran, “Thank you for riding the sides. We are going where such horsemanship is appreciated.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Éowyn stated plainly, “Of course in Dale, as in Rohan, young ‘uns are taught to ride before they talk.”

Shurran smiled and followed with, “Yes, but only after we learn the bow.”

It was then they realized the strapping lad was a great, great grandson of the man who put the arrow through Smaug. Aragorn came a step closer and said, “Yes, I see it. I met the Bowman and Bain and Brand in their times.”

Ardatha asked Éowyn, “Is that one of your daughters riding by your side?”

“Lilleth, she is fourteen and this is her first trip to my birthplace. Our son is not quite ready for the trip. It is fortunate that so many of the next generation can come.”

Her husband said, “Aye, except for you ladies and Nag Kath here, we are all getting older.” Over the course of the ride and for years to come, Ardatha and Éowyn had a special bond as horsewomen of the plains.

______________-------______________

The next day was uneventful. The best campsite was not as far as they could have pushed but a broken wagon spoke settled the matter. With time to pitch the tents in good light, cooks made a sumptious meal that could be enjoyed in a large open area half-surrounding a roaring fire. 

The Ivandred family walked to where the Conaths were chatting with several other travelers. Nag Kath did not know they knew each other and started introductions when Reyald cut him short, “We are far ahead of you Nag. I know Caladrion from their mission and we met the Captain earlier and her Ladyship in the city.” 

Caladrion clapped the Elf on the shoulder and said, “Will we be bearding any scholars in the Meduseld?”

Nag Kath laughed, “Nay, sir. There are no idle stargazers among the horse-lords.”

Eniecia asked meekly, “How is it you know each other, grandfather?”

Uncle Nag replied, “We met in Dol Amroth six, no seven, years ago, when I visited Lady Durnalath. He was kind enough to show me around his fair city.”

Caladrion gave them a short, humorous version of infiltrating the Sindarin library that Nag Kath hadn’t mentioned to them either. Then the witless orc said something that nearly voided his status as honorary grandfather, “Caladrion came to the Syndolan party and wouldn’t you know, he sang the Lament for Osour!”

They might have gotten away with it but Shurran, secretly proud of his sister, exclaimed, “Really? Eniecia dances the Rising Water Spirit.”

To the girl’s horror, it would not do unless the two of performed for the folk gathered around the fire enjoying an ale. Both of them pleaded their best excuses to no avail. Captain Ivandred was a fair baritone and could fill in on the low end where he thought his tenor son might have trouble.

Everyone around the fire, with the notable exception of Queen Arwen, was lustily hooting for the young people to play. Faramir’s daughter was a singer too but did not practice Catanales and was very shy. She drank in every nuance of the fair older girl. Eniecia hissed at Shurran through gritted teeth, “My revenge will be pitiless.” He smiled knowing he would survive. 

In this rustic opera, a solo female dancer opens the second act as the blossoming of a water flower and finishes as it closes for the night. With no musicians, she raised her arms from a crouch almost as if stretching after long rest. Then she began to circle around a small area of the clearing gradually opening and turning in full bloom until retracting those motions into the stillness of her compact form. She delicately returned to rest near the feet of the Attaché who ended the crush on her clueless grandfather.

The dance was the prelude to the Lament as the young hero bemoans the closing of the flower as his loss of innocence. He sings of wishing she had stayed but knows he must carry on. The Captain had a wonderful time singing a low harmony to the delight of his lovely wife. A few of the Belfalas dignitaries and aides handled bits of the chorus.

A tremendous success! Caladrion took his father’s hand on one side and the glowing Eniecia’s hand on the other for a theatrical bow to the royal assembly. The young woman told her mother she wanted to be a historical dancer. That would not be possible at her station in life, but this was awfully close, maybe better. The handsome tenor kissed her hand before she floated back to her honored family.

They made better time the next day. People were getting used to saddle-sores and this was where the road started to flatten away from the foothills. With fewer gullies and hiding places along the side, troopers could handle all the scouting. Two riders pulled alongside Nag Kath and greeted him warmly. He knew they were Prince Elphir, brother of the man he had saved in Dol Amroth and Elphir’s son Alphros. Nag Kath had wondered that they hadn’t met before, either there or on the trail, but he suspected the man’s Lady Wife was one of those discomforted by travel and trail food.

The august gentlemen introduced themselves and thanked him for his service to their family. These folk were as pure Dúnedain as existed anywhere but Arnor, much older than they looked. Having both the Prince and heir make the trip was of great moment. Nag Kath said, “It is nice you can visit your Lady Sister.”

Elphir considered that and added, “And for a more joyous event than father’s funeral. Elfwine did not come for that. I haven’t seen him since he was a lad.”

Nag Kath agreed, “He is a man-grown now. I know the bride too. She is very fair.”

Alphos nodded, “Her aunt travels with us, a fair lady herself.” He grinned, “I wonder if the Captain and son will serenade us again. Your grand-daughter is a lovely creature.”

With a Nag Kath grin, “That came as a surprise. I am still not sure if she is radiant or furious, same color of female in either form.”

They spoke for quite some time. Out of earshot, the Elf answered questions about the lord brother’s treatment, explaining it had been tried before. Mrs. Hürna had settled-in nicely as a Lady of Galador and sometimes healed expensive maladies among the gentry. Good for her!

______________-------______________

Six days out they crossed the Mering Stream and everyone knew everyone. Nag Kath even had a few minutes with Queen Arwen. She asked about Mordor and the Dwarf ring. Destroying it seemed to raise him in her eyes. In one of the only times he ever saw her smile, she admitted that the King had not mentioned its destruction to anyone but her and Faramir. Dale knew too, but they could keep a secret with Thorin Stonehelm on their doorstep. He had enough gold. He might even come to the wedding. Gimli would certainly attend.

Three days from Edoras a curious thing happened. Nag Kath heard a cry from the past. People who had a view of both said both Elves' heads turned east like hounds on the scent. He looked at her, she nodded and he took Charlo at a near-run to just under a ridge about two hundred paces from the road. Arwen said something in Elvish to King Elessar and he ordered the right flank to dismount and nock arrows. The left flankers were Atliers. 

Nag Kath slowed when he reached the point on the rise where he could not be seen from the other side and walked the horse up sideways so he could pull off the hill and retreat instantly. Reaching the top, he scanned the horizon for a few minutes before returning at a gallop and giving the barest shake of his head to the royals. They were underway in five minutes.

Reyald raised his eyebrow and was told, “Thought we heard wolves.” For the next two days, the right flank scouts were bolstered and Nag Kath took both watches. 

The following day they reached the river plain of the Snowbourne in sight of the fortress of Edoras. Folk of Arnor, the Shire and up-and-coming Dunland had arrived the day before after crossing the Isen. They collected Lord Gimli and his entourage on the way and were regaled with stories of his first meeting with Éomer.

As Nag Kath knew; space was at a premium. Like the Hobbit parties, large tents were erected for the guards and folk stayed in private homes with obliging residents. As soon as the Conaths were settled, Nag Kath took Shurran down to Dornlas’ house. He and Annlie were both home and the Elf collected his usual Rohan arm-shake. Shurran was introduced simply as Shurran and they went in for a half-pint.

“Great to see you, Nag. You two need a place to stay?”

“I do. Looks a bit cramped up the hill.” Shurran nodded to take a little of the strain off his folks.

Annlie brought the ale and sat with them. She announced, Torenne finally married her trooper. It took forever for him to ask but they’ve been together almost a year.”

Nag Kath raised his mug and toasted the happy couple. Dornlas asked, “Now, how do you know this rascal, Shurran?”

“He’s my grandfather. I’m on the Dale side of the family.”

Most folk would have dropped their jaws but Dornlas had been regularly informed. He just grinned and said, “We got Dale aplenty. Thain Durnaldar arrived fully a week ago with his brood. King Bain got here yesterday with his intended, not a bell after all the folk from over the Gap.”

Shurran added, “We brought the lot from Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith.”

Annlie smiled sweetly, “Don’t know where they’ll put them all. Is fish good for both of you?”

Nag Kath thought and said, “We should probably go back up in a bit to see if we are needed. I doubt it, but if we aren’t back when you have to start, we’ll fend for ourselves. Dorn, got some old business; I heard wargs on the way here.”

“We heard ‘em too. A few horses near the Entwash haven’t come home. Did you bring them with you?”

“They aren’t mine, but I’m sure to get a roasting from King Éomer.”

______________-------______________

The next morning was three days before the wedding. Today, leaders splintered-off into small reunions to discuss matters of state. Since Reyald was consulting with Bain and his interior ministers, Ardatha talked with Eniecia about her trip. After the fist-clenching dance recital, she was having a lovely time and had made several new friends among the guest families. People didn’t treat her like a little girl. At seventeen, she wasn’t. Shurran would eat here tonight and wait for Reyald to return. Nag Kath moseyed back to Dornlas’ and told him about Mordor. One didn’t get stories like that from anyone else.

The next day was also divided by region and age but for merriment. Shurran was invited to Prince Elfwine’s groomsmen’s dinner. He had met Tilli once when they were both small but being almost neighbors made him almost family, that and he was easy to like. All of the young men got along well, told slightly embarrassing stories and, surprisingly, did not punish the ale very hard. 

Then came the day before the wedding. Nag Kath figured if any of the nobles wanted him, they were waiting until after the couple was hitched. It wasn’t like renting the Mason’s Guild and having to clear out the next day. The Conaths were dining at Thain Durnaldar’s residence so he knocked and was shown to a fair-sized hall in what was usually the arms ministry.

This was an old-time reunion of the Dorwinion campaign! They relived the engagement to mixed fascination and boredom, depending on the listeners. Tilli was lovely and seemed quite calm. Her brother and sister enjoyed the trip. Eniecia was excited for a woman not much older than her. One concern was that Torrold and Gerda did not come. Thain Conath might have needed them more. Reyald wished he could go home. He had said his farewells knowing this was likely. That did not make it easier.

Nag Kath thought they might have more to discuss so he bade them goodnight. As he rose, Tilli said, “I will see you to the door.” Walking just outside she paused first then confessed, “I hope you forgave my forward behavior before the battle, Lord Kath. Please do not think me un-virtuous. I cannot imagine what you must have thought.”

In other words, she was worried he might let something slip tomorrow, of all days. He smiled, “There was nothing to forgive and I do not think you indiscreet. As to the last, I hope you can imagine what I though. I am a great believer in desire. You have it. Tomorrow night, drag your man under the covers until he realizes his extraordinary good fortune.”

She gave him the slightest hint of a smile and they wished each other good night. 

______________-------______________

Weddings in Rohan are like everywhere else except much shorter. If anyone has something to say, they had better get it out beforehand. There are few readings, brief family comments and the celebration starts directly afterwards so you don’t keep the guests waiting. Rohan doesn’t have a lot of servants either so troopers carried out the tables and benches as soon as the congregants cheered the wedded couple. 

Nag Kath saw King Bain with his fiancé and walked over to bow. “Please accept my best wishes for a long happy life together, My Lord.” That was gratefully received. The Elf did not recognize the young woman but she was very much of a type with those in Dale. He did say he accepted their invitation and looked forward to seeing all of his friends. Xondra was a confident lady and thanked him for that too before asking after his friends.

“Well, I know a number of folk in his Lordship’s service and my son is Brenen Fal who has uncounted grandchildren.” She held her hand over her mouth before saying she had long known his two girls and that they were invited. Nag Kath left thinking the King had done very well for himself. During that quiet interlude, the rest of the great hall was a frenzy of well-wishing and ale consumption. There were toasts and honors and more toasts in rapid succession. Then the royals vanished except for Éomer, Éowyn and Faramir. Alphros of Dol Amroth was in demand as well but since he was already married, the ladies knew better. 

Gimli was in good form. When Nag Kath went by, the Dwarf did not mention the ale drinking contest in this very hall, which was fine by the Elf. Shurran had attracted a few lovelies but he also excused himself to give his best to his cousin the King and the future Queen. Ardatha was asleep on her feet. Reyald took her and their wide-eyed daughter back to their quarters for well deserved rest.

The day after the wedding Nag Kath got his summons. He approached the reception room to the side of the throne dais earlier than the scheduled eleven-bell along with several lords he had spoken with just last night. This was new to them too so the meeting must have just been organized, perhaps not for his information at all. 

As folk trickled in, the Elf found Gimli sitting alone in a corner. After their initial encounter, the Dwarf had always been fulsome and hearty. Today he seemed introspective. Nag Kath pulled him from his reverie with, “Good morning, My Lord. A groat for your thoughts.”

“Ah, Nag Kath. Did you have a good time last night?”

“I did. I especially enjoyed all of the young people seeing two of their own tie the knot. My grandson and grand-daughter both met folk their own age.”

“You’re not so old yourself.”

“Thirty eight. The same age as Lord Alphros.”

“It might be a moment before the others come. Sit with me, Nag Kath.” The Elf did. “Aragorn told me about the ring.”

Nag Kath betrayed no emotion, “He said you deserved to know.”

“And you tossed it into Mount Doom?”

“Such as is left of it.”

“I want you to know I do not hold that against you. Some may, but those rings always brought dragons or war or Balrogs, something foul for having grasped too much. After my own great adventure, I praise your courage.” He leaned in a bit more conspiratorially, “I don’t suppose you knew which one it was?”  
  


“Nay, sir. But as long as the cat is out of the bag …” He wasn’t sure if this would travel to Erebor and Gimli’s face betrayed nothing. After a few seconds Nag Kath withdrew his little pad of paper and a pencil. It didn’t take long to draw the two marks, or as close as he remembered them during the slight-of-hand. 

Gimli looked very closely and pronounced, “Not Angerthas … perhaps Sauron’s mockery of Durin’s script. May I keep this?”

“Certainly. Please let me know what you find.”

Gimli looked around the room as Éomer and Faramir entered saying, “We can worry about that later. I need to decide a few things myself first. Thank you for your pains.”

As it happened, Nag Kath was the first speaker. He was asked to give a full account of his adventure in the east. He mentioned the ring was destroyed, but not how. The orc/man didn’t come up. Mordor stories were interesting but most of the lords wanted details on Rhûn and Khand. They asked quite a few questions; answers to which revealed a good deal more sorcery than all but a few in the room knew him to have. No one wondered about the warags.

The general theme of the group was whether to make overtures to the eastern rulers regarding trade and official cessation of hostilities, perhaps even embassies. When asked his opinion, Nag Kath said he thought they were ready but that both rulers should be approached in plain sight of the other. 

When Aragorn asked if there was anything else he wanted to add, the changeling's ability to surprise shone through; “Do not forget the northern orcs for consultation.”

There was an instant din in the room as people laughed or were outraged or insulted. Éomer was lord here and pounded a small hammer on the table. All were quiet and looked to him as he asked, “Would you explain that, Lord Kath?”

“Aye, King Éomer. It is five years now that we negotiated for them to stop aiding the Easterling rebels. Of all the groups, they were the most reasonable.”

Someone in the room cried, “That is because you deal with your own!”

The King banged his hammer again, “Pray, continue.”

“I am not inviting them for Syndolan dinner, but I think it would pay to keep a close eye.”

The Daleans would hear more. Their lands were closer to the northern wastes. Gimli was clearly waiting too. His fief was the Glittering Caves but they were under the lordship of Erebor and that was the orcs’ back garden. Nag Kath gave his next remark considerable thought. “There is still dark sorcery there. The threat in Mordor was real. I killed a Barrow-wight changed to flesh the same year, long after the One Ring was unmade. The Wild Huntsman may still patrol Dunland along the Mournshaws." For emphasis he added, “At least, he told me he would.”

He passed into his Elf-Lord visage, “Three years ago I crossed the Dead Marshes. Those soldiers should have rotted. Something preserves them, keeps them from peace. The orcs will be the first to know if dark powers rise where we cannot see. I think we could bribe them to tell us. The dark ones did them no favors. They are more likely to remember that with full bellies.”

As noisy as the room was after his first opinion, it was quiet as the grave now. Obviously, there was only one person who could undertake such an embassy. King Éomer said, “Thank you, Lord Kath. I hope you can stay as we consider your counsel.”

______________-------______________

Four days later, King Elessar and his train made for Annúminas with the Arnor contingent and the Hobbits. The King did not go last year because of the succession in Belfalas. The Gondor contingent left shortly after but family from Dol Amroth stayed several more weeks before returning to Minas Tirith. Nag Kath wondered why they just didn’t have a ship waiting at the Greyflood harbor. 

He and Shurran traveled north with King Bain and Thain Durnaldar until the latter veered to Nauthauja from Celduin Village. With the future Queen's ladies-in-waiting it was slower than cavalry. They made a quick stop for Bain to greet people in Esgaroth giving Shur and Nag Kath a chance to see the ever-lovely Mrs. Borenne. She was frail and needed a cane after a fall in the winter. The woman said she was getting better and might not need it soon. She marveled at her great grandson, such a fine man now! The old lady was still sharp and asked about everyone in the family. Nag Kath gave her a sketch of them drawn at one of the camps on the road to Edoras. Even she saw her resemblance with her sweet Eniecia, now a woman. The boys would make for Buhr Austar before long but planned to be back well ahead of winter.

Grandfather and grandson took a few extra days. Before riding back, they strolled to the tower rebuilt in the same place where Bard slew Smaug all those years ago. Up top they imagined the angle and the shot needed to hit a creature that large and fast with only a tiny target, a shot that changed the world. 

Mid-July was a glorious time to see the city of Dale. Not as hot as the southern lands, flowers did not need to hide in the daytime. Shurran could have used his family apartments inside the palace gates but he elected to stay with Uncle Nag, at least for a little while. Uncle Nag made his usual visits. Brenen and his family were exactly as he left them. So were Bard and Burry. Tella and Gorander had another baby boy. 

Shurran wrote a note to the King letting him know he was here and at his Lord’s command. He sent a separate letter to Queen Delatha wishing her well. When they dropped the letters, the gate guard allowed them to go to Shurran’s family apartments. He rummaged through his things but except for socks, he had outgrown all of his clothes. Ransacking Reyald’s dresser yielded mostly winter-wear. 

Uncle Nag realized that the lad didn’t have a privy pot to his name. For the next week he walked him around the better shops of Dale for fitted clothes, boots, kit and other things a young heir about town would be expected to own. Ros found them another maid/cook. Shurran also renewed his acquaintance with Brenen’s son Gerrulth the jeweler. After three weeks of repeating old stories, they made for the Buhr using the Dwarf Road. This was high season for merchants and they occasionally had to wait for wagons to avoid stamping through the marches. 

Thain Conath’s lodge was north of town so they stopped there first. Torrold and Gerda came out to greet them. She was as welcome as a good woman should be and had gently taken the household reins. The servants were the same, if a little slower. In the main room, Field Conath, Thain of Buhr Austar, was sleeping in his favorite chair with his cane by his feet. Seeing him so peaceful, the two stepped lightly trying not to wake him until Torrold firmly gripped his shoulder saying, “Look da, Shurran and Nag are come to see you!”

The old boy shook his head and grinned. They doubted he could see that far but he said, “Good lads, both of them. Come tell me of your adventures!” He dozed-off a couple times so they just kept the story going for Torrold and Gerda. When the Thain woke, he enjoyed it until dozing again. He did not seem to be in pain. At eighty four, the man thought he had a good run.

A runner was sent to Shurran’s sister Haldiera’s home in town, Eniece and Nag Kath’s in another life, and returned saying they would be out tomorrow with their children. Gerda and cook would see to fine meals. Gerda’s daughters and their families would visit the next day or perhaps the one after that. There was no rush. Uncle Nag would be here a month and Shurran might stay the winter. Everyone marveled at how much the young man had grown and how much he looked like his da, Torrold too since they were hard to tell apart except for Reyald’s broken nose. 

Days passed pleasantly. The Thain told the tale of Nag Kath missing the target but forgot it was Reyald’s wedding, not Torrold’s. Haldiera’s boy was now nine and looked like a proper Northman. Mother and daughter did too so great grandmother Borenne only reappeared every so often.

Two weeks after they arrived, the old Thain had a fit of laughter when one of the grandchildren told a funny story. He had a hard time getting his wind afterwards and needed help back to his room. It was a large space near the kitchen since he stopped using the stairs years ago. Gerda settled him in and he wished her a good evening. The next morning Brende took him his tea at the usual time. 

She returned to the main room a minute later still holding the mug. 

The old Thain wouldn’t have wanted his funeral to be too dignified. He was buried next to his dear Hadista in the little plot overlooking the meadow. That was followed by a wake that ran through most of the beer in town without any fights. Then the family rode back to the lodge and had a quiet meal. Shurran debated in Rohan if he should return to Minas Tirith or come here. He could not have been more right.

______________-------______________

Good afternoon, Your Highness.”

“Hello Nag Kath. I am sorry about Thain Conath, though I am glad he had a long, happy life. His lands are in excellent hands.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

King Bain was sitting with Chancellor Rosscranith and a Dwarf Lord in his personal office. It was the first time Nag Kath had been in the room. The Lord of Dale said, “Please, have a seat.” The Elf did and poured himself a mug of cool tea. “Nag Kath, may I present Prince Frór.”

“I am honored, my Lord.”

The Dwarf replied in a low, rich voice, “The honor is mine, Mr. Kath. My father thinks highly of your audacity.”

“A habit I have not been able to break, sir.”

Bain said with a small smile, “Speaking of same; you raised some eyebrows in Rohan.”

Rosscranith added, “You did that with the Easterlings too. That seems to be working. What think you of the north?

That the Dwarf was here meant this was important, and that Stonehelm probably knew more than he had mentioned. Nag Kath eased into the subject, “There are things I know, suspect and those beyond me. In my travels I have found remaining sorceries, most amount to little.” One of those was the Dwarf ring. “But the blackest seem to follow the Witch-King in his long predations to the south; Dunland, the Dead Marshes and the Barrow Downs. They may simply be losing power too slowly to detect. They may also be fed by residual humors not tied to the rings.

“Were I a dark servant, biding my time and accumulating power, the northern wastes are away from prying eyes. Who of us knows what the fell Lord left behind? What I do know is that the orcs will be the first to sense the rise of darkness. It did them no favors the last time. Men of the west have the strong hand now. If that strong hand also makes their lives easier with the occasional wagon of whisker-fish, it will be harder for the enemy to seduce them.”

Frór asked, “How do you know they would not play us false?”

The Elf responded, “I expect that, Master Dwarf. But knowing folk reward those who report such sorceries, the hard part will be parsing genuine news from the rubbish.”

The King asked, “You seek alliances?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Simply to bribe the spies. But I only know of one band and they are east of the crescent. We also need ears on the front porch nearer Fornost. Elessar Telcontar will certainly be interested.”

Ever practical, Rosscranith wondered aloud, “What needs to be done?”

The Elf knew this was the question they had planned from the outset. “Nothing complex, sirs. I would take a wagon-load of food to the same place as last time with a note we wish to parlay. I can speak their tongue but I cannot write it. I expect they cannot either but we can make ourselves understood. If they agree to meet, I suppose that makes me the negotiator.”

He grinned his worst grin, “Sire, might you know where we can find a wagon of dried hakuun fish?”

King Bain’s quartermaster happened to know a few fishermen and the wagon was taken to the Iron Hills Road. Nag Kath told the soldiers to stack the crates under a gaudy, red tent. With the whisker-fish was a note he crafted in the common-tongue with pictures of orcs and men meeting, his way of specifying no more than six guards should accompany the negotiator. If the Lugnash agreed, bringing a shield back to the site meant they should return two weeks later to negotiate. 

Nag Kath picked an area three leagues to the east that could not be surrounded in blackness, no trooper’s favorite assignment. They could not see at night and nothing would happen in the day, but three days after they piled the food on the ground, it was gone and a buckler shield was leaning against a rock. The orc in charge of the party had enough authority to agree to a council. Whether anyone showed was another matter.

Two weeks later, Nag Kath rode up with six men. One of them was Shurran. That was a needless risk but he was a soldier of Dale and his fathers had done braver things in the service of the King. They camped out in the open so as not to be trapped if a large force came with menace. Horses were kept saddled. 

That night they made a large campfire and cooked half a pig. Nag Kath winced at the smell but it would be mouthwatering to orcs who would certainly approach from downwind. About the nine-bell a harsh voice called out in Westron, “You, talk?”

Nag Kath rose and cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted in the Black Speech, **_“We come to parlay.”_** There is simply no way to project that language and not sound threatening. The men were prepared. He followed with, “ ** _Approach and be recognized._** ”

There was a company several hundred paces away but only the leader and six soldier-orcs came within the light of the fire. Orcs have no problem with fire. Only sunlight vexes them. The Elf said, **_“I am Nag Kath. We have dealt before.”_**

Usually; the larger the orc, the higher the rank, but one of the shorter fighters came a few steps closer and said in the Black Tongue, **_“I am Ghoushorr, Captain of Lugnash Khuundur.”_**

The troopers stood ready. Their horses were upwind but still nervous. Nag Kath told the Captain, **_“Sit, we will talk here.”_** The men watched for hand signals because they would not understand anything said. The orc Captain turned to his guards and grunted. The negotiators sat close by the fire and the guards sat ten feet behind them with their swords at the ready.

The Captain said, **_“We are here. What do you say?”_**

**_“We wish to reward our friends who showed such good sense five seasons before. We offer a full wagon of fish in exchange for news if dark lords return to take your lands.”_ **

**_“There are none.”_ **

The Elf said, **_“Good. Do you know of Angmar?”_**

**_“No. Gundar orcs there. They stay or we fight them.”_ **

Nag Kath appeared to consider that carefully, **_“Would Khuundur like a full wagon of fish every season to watch for dark usurpers who would steal his land?”_**

Not Dukks players; these northern orcs. The captain immediately betrayed his position, **_“Two wagons!”_**

His expressions would not mean anything to these creatures but Nag Kath acted shocked at the exorbitance and turned to Shurran. “Shur, do we have the authority to give these hard bargainers a Florin worth of whisker-fish?

In the same solemn tones Shurran replied, “Only if they throw in tribute women, Uncle Nag.” One of the troopers stifled a laugh. 

As if thoroughly defeated by the better negotiator, the Elf said, **_“Two wagons, yes, but for that, we want to know of eastern clans also. If they have dark servants, you will need help or they will take your lands. Bad for us. Bad for you.”_**

His diplomacy a success, Ghoushorr grunted, **_“We agree.”_**

Nag Kath broke into a grin and called, “Boys, let us share our meal!” The troopers thought this the most revolting part of the hair-brained scheme but they stood slowly and handed portions of the pre-cut pig to the orcs around the fire. Dry fish will keep you alive but this; this was orc heaven. As was always said of him; Uncle Nag knew how to throw a party!

As the orcs wiped the grease on their coats, Nag Kath told them how to send word every year through the Dwarvish post directly behind the Lonely Mountain, that the messenger should wear white and what to shout. They would send someone who spoke the common tongue, a favored position in their ranks and worth practicing. He was also specific that they did not need false witness to appear they were earning their fish. No news was good news. When something important happened, they would bring one of the copper medallions he gave them so all knew it was from the Lugnash. With what he thought he heard of the Captain’s troops and the Colonel’s behind the Iron Hills, Nag Kath put the clan’s overall strength at around two thousand fighters.

Business concluded, Nag Kath invited their guests to take the carcass back to the soldiers waiting in the bush. Troopers stoked the fire high and no one slept a wink. 

______________-------______________

There is a certain exhilaration that comes with surviving a dangerous assignment. These men were all volunteers, King’s Men of the professional army. Nag Kath explained his conversation on the way home. Another wagon of dried fish would be brought before the snows with a roasted pig thrown in for good measure.

They stopped at Erebor first. In Dwarvish realms, one is taken through the ranks. From gate-guard to sergeant to officers to Frór took five escorts. The Crown Prince was sitting with his father in the King’s private room. Nag Kath bowed and waited the proper distance from Thorin III. He was nearing two hundred years old which was still prime for these long-lived folk. The King called, “Approach.” When the Elf reached the table he added, “You are surprisingly alive, Nag Kath. We have terms?”

“After a fashion, My Lord. The best hope is that nothing comes from this.”

“I understand you lost the charm I gave you.”

How did he know that? “I did, sir. It was used to trick the head of the Visitor cult. It may be a while before they trouble your borders again.”

“And it was lost in losing another treasure of my Kingdom?!” That was asked in furor he could barely contain. 

No matter to the Elf, “Aye, King Under the Mountain. Men and metal met their ends in Mordor.”

Frór did not seem to be expecting this. He glanced at his father to gauge the direction of the exchange. Thorin shouted, “Think you to destroy precious heirlooms of my people?!”

Such an outburst from a King would shrink most people in fear but not the last Uruk-hai. He said in his Elf Lord voice, “Sauron’s rings and, if need be, the hands that bear them, unless you think such jewels will have grown wholesome after long confinement in Barad Dûr.”

A hundred oaths nearly spat from the bearded mouth after such an outrage. All Thorin could manage was, “Leave! You are forbidden Erebor in my lifetime!” The Elf bowed deeply and made for the door.

On the short ride to Dale Nag Kath did not dampen the soldiers’ spirits. They had done their jobs and done them well. Rosscranith’s sensibilities did not need to be spared.

“Kicked you out, did he?”

“Like a bead-peddler, Davet. Even called it precious. It might have been worse but Frór was sitting there and we were successful. Is it wise to have the orcs send word through their northern garrison now?”

Rosscranith considered that. “Nothing for it. Good work. King Elessar should know. I’ll have a messenger waiting for your letter with one or two of ours. When I get the opening, I will confer with Frór. It was said Thorin was a good son but as King, he has been difficult. He works his people very hard.” Muttering under his breath, “Greedy little dougsh!”

In Sindarin;

**_My dear King Elessar,_ **

**_My embassy to the northern orcs was successful. They accepted terms, though it remains to be seen if they honor them. They are at odds with their kin inside the Angmar Crescent making them more likely to mention if foes can summon dark forces. Their counterparts on the Fornost side will have to be contacted separately._ **

**_My report to Stonehelm went poorly. He berated me for destroying the ring. I gather from wiser men he is falling into Dragon Sickness. It makes me all the gladder he will never wear the band. Who knows what new malice Sauron imbued while in his care? The King did not interfere with the quest though; methinks to learn more of orcs still in Khazad Dûm._ **

**_I am now forbidden the Dwarf realm and hope this does not cast a pall on your dealings. For what it is worth; the orcs get two wagons of fish and a roast pig every year for their supposed eyes on dark restoration. NK_ **

This might be the first crack in the post-war alliance. Imhrahil and Bard were dead but replaced by sons very like them. Thorin could live another hundred years wielding absolute authority. How might this affect the Glittering Caves or the Dwarvish enclaves to the west?

Stonehelm’s indignation was not really a surprise. He hoped it would not harm his friendship with Gimli. His Dwarf friends would probably never learn or care; especially if Thorin was driving his own like orcs.


	3. Matching Portraits

**_Matching Portraits_ **

The next day Shurran collected his clothes at the tailors and stopped to look at the large statue of Brand glowering in the square. There was a striking resemblance. People wandering by looked at both before going about their business. When he got home, he told grand-da, “Nag, I would like to meet Lord Carstors.”

That would be the Carstors of the pivotal wedding portrait. Brand had three children. His older daughter bore Lord Carstors at nineteen during Brand’s long time as heir-apparent. His son Bard II was eight years younger than his sister. He took the throne at Brand’s death in the Ring War and was father to the current King Bain II, reliably thought to have been conceived on the day of Carstor’s wedding. Ardatha was born at the start of Brand’s regency as old Bain the First entered a five year decline. Her son was Shurran. There were thirty-seven years between the oldest and youngest of Brand’s three grandsons.

Shurran, in his fine hand, wrote a letter to his cousin who lived at his hunting estate on the west side of the Long Lake below Esgaroth. When it arrived, it took the household a few hours to discover who the young man was. That settled, Lord Carstors wrote a reply himself saying he and his staff were welcome to visit for as long he liked. He wasn’t sure what the lad wanted, but Devoran Carstors was a kindly fellow and liked company.

Lord Shurran’s staff turned out to be reliable Uncle Nag. New clothes were stuffed into saddlebags and the two took the Merchant’s Road south. The Count’s property was about five miles south of the Forest River mouth after it cleared the marshes. They owned eight miles of lake frontage and a swath about that wide going west another twenty miles towards Mirkwood. The road actually ran across his lands with a royal easement.

Lord Carstors estate was well away from traffic and the commercial lake property that paid his bills. Climbing slightly after turning right, they arrived at a beautiful group of homes that had considerable Elvish influence, both for the buildings and the grounds. The largest of them was a two-story house with banks of real glass windows overlooking the lake. A groom was there before they dismounted to take the reins and bags.

Nag Kath and Shurran visited Mrs. Bourenne on the way and rode at a good pace to get here before the sun went down. Still, they took a moment to appreciate the place. A liveried servant took them to a very comfortable room getting the last of the western light. Carstors rose from reading and walked over with a hearty smile.

His Lordship was actually expecting other guests today but he adjusted quickly and said, “You must be my cousin Shurran Conath.” They shook hands. Then he looked to the Elf and within seconds recognized him as the artist who captured him and his beloved wife on their wedding day. Nag Kath offered his name in case the man had forgotten. He had, or he would have attached considerably more importance to the itinerant portraitist’s later deeds. Carstors said, “Now how is it that you two know each other?”

Shurran replied, “Nag Kath is my grandfather, Lord Carstors. It is a long and happy story.”

“Splendid! Let me just get Tillith and perhaps a glass of wine to savor the sunset.” The man nodded to the servant who brought them in and showed his guests to comfortable chairs around a low, polished wooden table. They hadn’t even sat before a pleasant, matronly woman came in to receive bows. Royalty first, Carstors said, “My dear, this is my cousin Shurran Conath of Buhr Austar. And by a tale yet to be told, this is his grandfather Nag Kath who captured us on our wedding day.”

She focused on his face for a moment and put her hand over her mouth before removing it and saying, “Yes, yes it is you. Oh my, that was quite an eventful day for everyone, wasn’t it?”

The Elf modestly said, “Yes, My Lady. A day of many beginnings.”

She said, “Please, take your seats. Lord Shurran, your things have been taken to your rooms.”

Shurran smiled and said, “Lord isn’t necessary, ma’am.”

Carstors laughed, “Quite right! I’m Dev and this is Lil.”

Wine arrived in a beaker with exquisite glazed cups that looked Elvish. Lord and Lady Carstors were well set-up. Nag Kath had a rough count of five interior servants not including whoever was cooking and a bunch more keeping up the grounds. Miles of lakefront along the main road with tenant farmers will do that for you.

When they were seated, Carstors asked, “Shurran, how old are you?”

“Nineteen, Dev. Father took the embassy to Minas Tirith three years ago so I have been there until Nag and I returned to Dale this summer after Elfwine’s wedding.”

The elegant man said, “Heard about that. And sorry to hear about your third grandfather. I only met him once but he seemed a merry sort.”

“Aye sir, and with a long life well lived.”

Lil excused herself to prepare for guests yet to arrive after telling the men not to stand. Carstors knew a great deal about the kingdom from his retreat. His younger daughter and her family lived in his home in Dale but there was plenty of room for his and Lil’s occasional visits. He had also heard many variations of the Nag Kath stories and assumed at least one of each was mostly true. The creature had settled the Lings right proper twice. The man took a sip of a truly superb wine and said, “I would imagine you would like a little history on your visit, young man.”

Shurran only needed to smile. His Lordship continued, “Well, the day we met your spare grandfather defined our lands today and completed the old ways for much the better. Brand was a hard man. Future King Bard was only eleven when I arrived as second heir, and a full ten years before Brand finally got the crown, thought he had been regent five years through poor old Bain’s dotage.”

He had another delicate sip of the red wine and said, “With no more sons likely, the suspicious King worried others might seek to elevate me. He looked knowingly at Nag Kath and added, “That seems to be a theme in court life here. My father, a wise and patient man, thought to remove his family from such intrigues and we returned here where he was Thain of what used to be South Lake. At his death, that was folded into the crown but these personal lands are ours in perpetuity for either male or female heirs, which is good because our family throws mostly girls. We went to the city for important events but Brand’s spies must have assured the man I was no threat.”

Carstors looked into the last of the sun and cleared his throat for a more difficult part of his narrative, “Then came the Easterlings. I was subaltern to Prince Bard at the gates when Brand was slain, and the great Dwarf Dain beside him. We routed them, thanks to events in Mordor, and King Bard took the crown. He was a good and decent man, telling me I could live where I wanted and marry who I wanted. But wouldn’t you know it; I was happy right here! I met my true love and raised two fine girls. I am still next in line, with you, Shurran, behind me. Hopefully our new King will add a few heirs of his own.” Another sip, “Don’t know the lass.”

Shurran said, “I had not heard much of Brand, the man. Grandmother kept her opinions to herself. To me, he has always been the fierce warrior under pigeon droppings.”

Carstors had a hearty laugh, “Serves him right! Both of you; follow me.” He rose a bit awkwardly but walked well to an alcove in the room with the wedding portrait. Softly, “We took your advice, Nag Kath, and kept it from sunlight. Both of us look at it every day.”

“If you have time, Dev, I should make one of you now to go alongside.”

Carstors took one of Nag Kath’s hands with both of his and said, “Oh, would you?! I can’t think of anything more splendid. I hope you both can stay a while. We should probably go where the lamps are being lit since the Urbans and my daughter’s family will be here any time now.” The man poked his head into the hall and a servant was there instantly, “Cardel, please take these gentlemen to their rooms to dress for dinner.” To his guests he said, “We eat late, on the seven-bell, but there will be good company and more of that tasty Dorwinion 25 beforehand.”

The rooms were small but had real glass windows and everything needed; fresh water, clean towels, even tooth twigs with the bark removed. Nag Kath promised himself a nice walk around the grounds tomorrow.

Both guests left their rooms after hearing a clear chime at what must be the six-half bell. At the foot of the stairs was a lovely old water-clock, the kind that slowly pours into a counterbalanced cup. When it fills to the right level, the cup drops to empty the water and rings the bell. When a second cup empties, it rings the louder hour-bell. Nag Kath had seen them being made in the Khandian capital and this one had a rune on the beam-weight in that script.

They made their way into the main room and were introduced to second cousin Lillith and her husband Maurid Vontris. The woman favored her mother, a good thing. He was from local gentry and had smooth hands to prove it. Neither said much. As Shurran was searching for something eloquent, Lil introduced Captain and Mrs. Urban. Recognition took a few moments but the Captain was the poor young trooper who had to carry the Northman’s head wrapped in a jacket after the Lings attacked on the Dwarf Road all those years ago. Neither of them said anything until his wife, not a woman to be left in silence, sounded, “It seems you two know each other. You can tell us all about it at table.”

The soldiers thought to themselves; probably not all, or even most, with ladies present. Nag Kath managed, “Captain, Mrs. Urban, this is Shurran Conath. Ma’am, he is the grandson of the lady your husband and I once escorted to the Buhrs.” Since her face didn’t go white, Nag Kath and Shur assumed she hadn’t heard most of it from him. One of Reyald’s favorite stories was of Ardatha at half-term carrying Haldiera trying to recognize the head on the stump.

Dinner was graceful. Mrs. Urban was oblivious to her husband’s subtle eye movements not to pursue military history during the main course. The two old soldiers were able to shift that story to the Dorwinion invasion where Nag Kath fought beside Shurran’s father. For his part, Shurran told stories of Minas Tirith and the royal wedding this summer. It is hard to go wrong discussing the marriage of princesses at dinner with females. Nag Kath thought he might be as good a diplomat as his da.

Mrs. Vondris was pushing thirty. At times she had a far-away look in her eye but then quickly came back to the conversation with a lovely, soft voice. Her husband was a squire of some sort with property just south of Carstor’s on the lakefront. They lived in a large home two-hundred paces from this one during summer and fall hunting seasons but returned to the lake when the weather turned. He was perhaps ten years older than her and they had a four-year old daughter playing with her governess two doors over. 

In the company of military men, civilians sometimes feel the need to stress the importance of their own contributions. That was fine. He seemed an agreeable man. It was Nag Kath’s policy to be an excellent dinner guest and make people comfortable. He figured he would live forever so he could listen attentively to just about anything for a couple hours. Most of the interest was in the young Lord anyway. They needed to marry this one off! Alas, the fisherwomen of the South Lake did not have the right pedigrees. He simply must visit sister Lilac when he got back to Dale for introductions. Brenen’s ladies knew every eligible girl in town and were probably already conniving. 

It was likely this dinner would be repeated at least once more over the long, country weekend so they were not pressed to exhaust every available topic. The Vondris’ left after dinner but not before little Tallath came in to wish grand-da and granna goodnight. The child reminded Nag Kath of Meaglie, the farmer’s daughter, just west of Orthanc. She curtsied to the strangers with a shy smile and hugged her nanna before servants led them home by torchlight.

The Urbans were staying here in the big house so the hosts and their four guests went back to the comfortable room with the portrait for another cup of wine. A bit more at ease, the Captain said to Shurran, “Do your parents like the White City?”

“They do, sir. They went back after the wedding with Prince Faramir. Nag Kath and I continued here to visit family, though this meeting wasn’t planned.”

Urban said gently, “Sorry about the Thain. He treated us fair at his lodge. I was very junior at the time but we got as good as he had.” Nag Kath wondered about that. Troopers and Captains come from different folk. Urban must have shown considerable skill to retire as an officer.

Shurran put him at ease, “We were there. He died in his sleep and rests next to his beloved wife.” The young man smiled and looked at Uncle Nag, “Last thing he said to you was a chiding for missing the target!”

Captain Urban said softly, “Not by much, I dare say.” He remembered the Elf spitting that Ling like it was yesterday. 

______________-------______________

Carstors told them they had the run of the place and he liked to sleep late so Nag Kath dressed at first light and wandered out into the dew. It was getting cold. He visited the stables. Those were luxurious as well. The Urbans arrived by carriage. Their horses, Nag Kath’s and Shurran’s were on one side of the barn with another half dozen in stalls against the far wall. The Carstors had a two and a four-wheeled carriage plus all the saddles and tack one might need. 

A room off to one side held considerable hunting gear for beaters, riders and an area for dressing game. The bows and arrows were kept in the house away from the damp. The next building over kenneled the hounds. They had been quiet during the night but gave the Elf a boisterous greeting as their first visitor that day. That was usually the man who fed them so their enthusiasm was understandable. There were two large protection dogs loose at night but they didn’t seem interested in guests. Dogs generally weren’t aggressive towards Elves but not overly submissive either. Cats treat them with the same disdain they show everyone.

Carstors said he didn’t hunt as much as he used to. Nag Kath guessed it was the game hip he showed rising from his chair. He made a mental note to ask. Back at the house, Lil was up and about seeing to the perfection of her home. The woman enjoyed helping the cooks and did much of the baking herself. The household also canned jellies and produce in waxed, glazed jars at harvest both for taste and when they were snowed-in place. 

The Elf saw her at the clock and after bidding her a good day said, “I saw these being made in Khand. The makers fire the large bowl with a wire through the side. Then they let it dribble into an exact bowl to judge the size of the catch-cups.”

She brightened even more and said, “Oh yes!” Opening the door under the stand she produced another clay bowl saying, “This came with it. On Syndolan and high summer, Cardel measures it and adjusts the little weight if needed. If it doesn’t betray any great secrets, Nag Kath, Khand is quite some ways off.”

“Indeed my Lady. After the business on the river I was there for diplomacy.” He supposed fomenting wars counted broadly since it included some measure of peace afterwards.

She gave him a canny glance and concluded with, “This is a very clever device. I am sure its makers were of great craft.”

Breakfast was a banquet. Even declining meat, Nag Kath’s plate was piled high. New apples had been squeezed into pulp served in tea mugs. Carstors was still a thin man but he punished his eggs and sausage like a trooper at mess. The Urbans came down a little later at no risk of missing the fare. 

Carstors held court; “In his day, father would fill the hall with guests before fowling or hunting deer. Sometimes we would go after turkeys and occasional boar, though both are too smart to be caught by noisy townsmen after a night of wine.” Urban and Shurran were hunters too and they told of merry gatherings in their times.

It was unusual for Nag Kath to mention sorcery. He only showed it at need, even among friends. If he wanted something in another room, he rose and fetched it. He didn’t cloud vendors’ minds for a better price. And ‘the fast’ was only for danger. Nag Kath even surprised himself when he said, “The Huntsman said the same. He traveled with eight huge wolf-hounds. His guests would hunt and then return to his halls for feasting. I wonder what happened to him.”

Mrs. Urban thought it might be someone they knew and asked, “Which Huntsman is this, Nag Kath?”

“One of the Maiar, an immortal patrolling the Mournshaws.” With a smile, “He came to hunt me but we reached an understanding. Good thing; that. He stands as tall as the ceiling.”

For a moment no one breathed. Shurran had seen the sketch and Captain Urban knew the Elf was more than he seemed. There wasn’t much unsaid about him over the decades but most people dismissed it at the time and it was quickly old gossip. The ladies were too cultured to declare him a boor and hoped someone else would make the next comment. Urban obliged, “The Wild Huntsman?”

“Aye, Captain. He said he was Maia to Oromë. I wondered that his quest had not ended with the ring but he was still in Dunland. Dev; that was only a few months before we met. I was there five years ago with King Elessar. The Huntsman knew him as a Dúnedain ranger and they did not care for each other so we tried not to wake his hounds. Like yours, they find the prey. Next time I am there I will see if he remains.”

It was a good thing breakfast was over because there aren’t many conversations that could follow. 

There were no scheduled activities at the Carstors’ estate this weekend. Guests did as they liked. Nag Kath asked if he could browse through the bookcase in the pleasant room they first visited with good morning light. Shurran and the Urbans walked off their breakfasts. 

Dev read occasionally. Like most libraries of the wealthy in Dale, there were more shelves than books. Impossibly rare; volumes and manuscripts were spread thin. Owners often included works in tongues they did not even speak to fill the space. In the collection was one of the Elvish documents the scholars sold from Nag Kath’s Orthanc gleanings. He chuckled, thinking he would keep that to himself.

There were two works of note. In the same fine leather box was another sheet with pictures of the three Elf rings from several angles with notes and measurements, perhaps the study made by the smith for casting. The original would have been written in Quenya so this was probably a much later copy. Logass said Elves updated everything because their languages changed so often among the sunderings.

The second was a thin book by the Elf Lord Elrond on healing. It seemed to be a rough draft with corrections or entire pages lined-through and referenced to pages at the back of the bound volume. This was priceless. The most famous of all healers must have taken the completed version with him because there was nothing like this in Rivendell. It would take a long time to make sense of what Elrond meant to keep and then copy that precisely.

Nag Kath was poring over the text so intently he didn’t hear Carstors approaching on the soft Khandian carpet until the man said, “You seem to have found something interesting, Nag Kath.”

The Elf looked up from the table and said in awe, “A treasure, sir. A treasure.”

The man walked around the table to read the book right side-up and lamented, “Glad someone can make sense of that. What does it say?”

“It is a book on Elvish medicine by the greatest of their healers. He was the Lord of Rivendell and the father of Queen Arwen. This looks like notes that were condensed later, but still the only work of its kind on this side of the great sea.” Nag Kath smiled, “I confess, my Elvish is not very good.”

“You seem very much an Elf to me.”

Nag Kath smiled again at having explained this so fruitlessly but he kept trying, “I am only part Elf and just turned thirty seven years old. A man had to teach me what little I know.” 

He flipped the single sheet with the rings and said, “This is interesting too. The ring in the middle was Gandalf’s. He let me wear it once. He said it was losing its power now that the One Ring was destroyed but it was still a thing of beauty. This one belongs to Elrond, who wrote this healing text and the other is worn by Galadriel of Lorien.

“That reminds me, I am a healer, of sorts. Would you like me to look at that sore hip?”

“Yes! It is worse now that the weather is turning.” They shut the doors so Carstors could lower his trousers privately and Nag Kath applied a deep bone spell. He explained it could not repair much damage but it would feel better for a few weeks. Another application in two days would increase that. It only took a minute and then the Lord of the South Lake walked across the room and back, pronouncing it improved.

The Elf said, “We may have missed the best light but if the weather holds, would you and Lil like to sit for that second portrait about the ten-bell tomorrow?”

“That would be just fine. Thank you for that and my leg.”

“Glad to help. I will try to copy this work without being in the way.”

Carstors waved his hand casually saying, “Oh, just keep it. I can’t read a word.”

“Are you sure, Dev? This is beyond price.”

Dev chuckled, “By my count, you’ve saved me from being King three times. Now THAT is a gift beyond price!”

______________-------______________

Dinner was just the house-guests and the Carstors. The Vondris’ would join them again tomorrow night. Dev and Shurran talked more about the succession. It was complicated. Kings of the Northmen had been refined from rude clans of the forests but kept many laws passed down from those chieftains. Only a man could rule. Grandsons borne of the King’s daughters were in line but not great grandsons borne of a daughter’s daughter unless there was Lordship on the father’s side. There could be challenges at the investiture, though that hadn’t been done since well before Girion. Of course, if the challenger arrived with a much larger army, he made his own rules. 

Carstors also explained the paperwork of succession. That was all within the last four hundred years since even fewer Northmen than now could read, but the blood-oaths remained unchanged. Shurran said that Eniece’s parents and King Brand had signed what were called the Articles of Union which was considered better than half of the marriage process since it dealt in property rights. Those disappeared when the strategic opportunity overcame Brand’s lust.

Dev said, “That was Brand, for you. He always treated me well to my face but father knew of his mistrustful nature so the King didn’t see my face very often. He was fifty, I think, when he was crowned, but he ruled the land when Bain, the first Bain, became senile. I remembered Bain as a kindly old cove, wandering about the palace under a pile of robes, talking to anyone or himself when alone. It was not all bad, though. Brand was a fair to good King and kept our forces fit when the Lings came in force.

“Mother died in childbirth when I was thirteen and father was killed getting people inside the gates, not a week before Brand himself was slain. I was a junior officer to Bard on the right. When we broke out of Erebor, ours was the task of flanking the Easterlings where the orcs dropped. Alas, we could not rescue the center before our front line fell. Brand and Dain both led from the front.”

Shurran’s folk weren’t there. The Thainholds harried the Easterlings on their way to Dale and inflicted more serious damage on the retreat. Fast riders were sent along both roads to warn everyone that Sauron’s allies were making for the capital. Even those few days’ notice saved many.

The next day was cold and rainy but the light was good enough for Elf eyes to draw the second picture. Nag Kath put the first alongside his paper to keep them similar. The original showed the young couple’s optimism for life together. The second showed their optimism fulfilled. Even he thought it remarkable. 

That opened the dinner conversation but the ladies quickly shifted back to Shurran’s prospects for matrimony. Da’s diplomatic skills shone-through and he was convincingly bashful enough to avoid any direct entanglements, even floating a vague understanding his parents had to the south with a baron of some sort. The young Lord would follow-up with cousin Lilac in Dale. For a subject and successor of the King, he knew little of the capital. And as congenial as Uncle Nag was, Shurran neither wanted to be in the way nor depend on the Elf for introductions. Chances were good that Brenen and Bard’s broods knew most of the same people Lilac did.


	4. Scars of Love

**_Chapter 4_ **

**_Scars of Love_ **

They were on their way after Carstor’s second hip therapy. The Urbans were staying a few more days. Of all the many offers to return Nag Kath had received over the years, he would definitely remember this one. On top of excellent company, he had his book and the Carstors had the second picture. 

Last night’s dinner gave Uncle Nag food for thought. He was traveling with a healthy young man of considerable station. He did not know if Reyald or Ardatha had thoroughly explained how complicated that could get when it came to females. A country boy; Shurran knew the basics. It would be a long ride home so Nag Kath just asked, “Shur, did you take them seriously about a lady-friend?”

“Sure. I might not wait as long as cousin Bain but I am in no hurry.”

Without taking his eyes off the road the Elf continued, “I was thinking more of the meantime.”

Shurran cracked a large grin and said, “I’ve considered that too. To be honest, Nag, I don’t meet a lot of women who think in those terms. They want to be wives, or mistresses at the very least. And Dale is a small place compared to the White City. Everyone knows everyone’s business.”

Nag Kath offered, “My own love life has had ups and downs but I learned a thing or two. If you want to talk without a lecture, let me know.”

“Thank you. There is other meantime business too. I have tried not to look like an anxious heir. I think the less said about that the better.”

“I noticed. No need to ask for a tour of the counting-room. I would have warned you against any of those arranged marriages looking too much like an alliance but you seem to have that in hand. Twas good you went with me to the orcs, though. A man of Dale is a soldier of Dale and that may count for something years hence. Have you seen Queen Delatha?”

Shurran replied, “Not since I was a child. She and mother get along well, being lasses of the Buhr.”

“That is an exception I would make in your royal education. Without being too obvious, try to sit with her. Her experience is vast and she is a lovely woman. She will appreciate your situation.”

Shurran asked a wise question for someone so young, “Should you be there?”

“I think not, unless it just happens that way. I have been of great use to the family but they have never known quite what to do with me. Old Uncle Nag is a dangerous fellow, making him a servant of last resort. I keep that quiet. Of course, that makes me handy to be near you. Have wine with Rosscranith too. I can arrange that innocently.”

Nag Kath thought a few moments and said more gravely, “We learned a few things this weekend. One is that you are probably an excellent successor to be waiting in the wings. You do not have the political contacts to organize a coup of your own or naked ambitions, a bit like your cousin Dev that way. Without embarrassing you, you are a good age, size and temperament for the job, like Brand without the pigeon dougsh. 

“Carstors will certainly abdicate should he outlive King Bain so you need to think of yourself as next-in-line. I should think to stay for Bain’s wedding and make a life in Minas Tirith as if you might never get the sealed letter. Chose friends carefully, which you already do, and let your da know if anyone takes untoward interest. He has a horse in the race. So does your little cousin in Austar.”

Changing the subject completely, Shurran said, “I think I know who thumped you for Eniecia’s affections, poor Uncle Nag.”

The changeling smiled before guessing, “Cal? And we had her dance with the man! Aye, I wouldn’t doubt Talereth had a hand in that. Your sister is too young but in a few years that would be Tal’s best match ever. Stay close to him. He will matter in this world of men. You will too.” 

Shurran wondered that Uncle Nag did not include himself. Was he already other than of the world of men? The last wizards were, thought that was by design. It sounded like they both needed a woman.

The coming of winter meant Syndolan. Nag Kath organized his party in the usual style. Lorens Brightens did not have children but Lotold had three and they were now adults, even by Hobbit lifespans. 

The Elf’s Dwarvish friends showed no signs that his disfavor with Thorin affected their outlook. The old King might not want that widely known after Nag Kath’s recognized service to his halls. Erebor had too much gold and it had been lain-on by the worst of all dragons for nearly two centuries. Nag Kath did not know if the sickness could infect the metal itself but both Thorins had that malady.

One overdue chore was replacing his old bow. They look good forever hanging over a mantle but a bow is a living weapon with a finite life. The best bowyer in the city now was Tunverid who had apprenticed with Fridth before opening his own shop. The man recognized the craft of the weapon Nag Kath brought with him. This one had history; two of the most famous shots since Smaug. Men who make these watch their babies. 

He looked down his spectacles at the wood and said, “This one still has life but you are right to come. With a Dun Breathen or Dun Aouwen pull, one day it will snap in your face. You are in luck, Lord Kath …”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“I have one half done for a man who realized he had no business trying to draw it. Here, have a look.” He brought back a weapon with the wood already curved but without the center assembly. It was fine work.

Nag Kath gave it a quick inspection and said, “This will be excellent.”

“I can have it ready in a week. How are you set for arrows?”

When Nag Kath thought of archery in Dale, he thought of Burry. The Elf went by his house after seeing the bowyer and caught the Sergeant returning home from helping his oldest boy repair a broken chimney grate. He was clean enough that the Elf suspected a supervisory role. “Oh, hey Nag! Heard about the fish.”

“It went well, old friend. Orcs are easy to bribe. We threw in half a pig to sweeten the deal.”

“You’ll spoil them. Why the bow and no arrows?”

Nag Kath looked at his reliable weapon and said, “I saw Tunverid for another. This one has seen thirty-some years of mud, rain and trouble. Made a few good shots with it, though.” He handed it to his teacher.

“Yes, I remember this well." He drew it with ease. "If you can stand to part with it, Corporal Danthor needs one with this flex but can’t afford it.”

“Give it to him then. I won’t need it before the new bow is done.” He looked at it in his teacher’s hand with reverence, “If it could talk ... How is your flock?”

“Four grandkids now. All boys. Lola is nanny oftentimes. Oh, Al Dedlan died. You remember him from archery? Dead a year, but I just heard.”

“He got his time in then. I remember him ready to throw me out of his tent.”

Burry smiled, “Aye, got me a smack in the tenders too. Are you back for a while?”

“Through the winter and the King’s wedding. Shurran is staying too and his folk from the Buhr will certainly come. Old Conath died so Torrold is Thain now. He is a good man. But sooner than that, Lola will need her dancing shoes!”

Rosscranith was his usual self. The big Northman, even bigger in fur-lined robes, saw Nag Kath as soon as he presented himself. The Elf asked, “Any word from Frór?”

“Haven’t seen him, which is odd since he is as close as we have to an ambassador. The King Under the Mountain hasn’t left it since Bards’ funeral. Other friends report Thorin is still seething. Our local Dwarves don’t seem the worse for it.”

Nag Kath mused, “Makes you wonder how many of those rings survived. If that was Thror’s ring I melted, I’ll have to be immortal to outlive their wrath. Seriously Davet, if you need to put distance between Dale and me to stay in their good graces, do it. I can be the orc from Orthanc. Your people needed those walls and might again.”

Rosscranith shook his head, “It is not you. Thorin has the sickness. He was Ambassador here before the war and a good friend, but with the crown he became a poor neighbor. They don’t buy as much food as they used to, or ale, because he can’t stand to pay any of that mountain of gold for his people’s sweat. Thank you for your offer, but Bain would never agree. He is a better sort of King. Are you still staying for the wedding?”

Nag Kath brightened, “Wouldn’t miss it. After that, Shurran and I are back to Gondor. You should have the young man over for wine. Since I am in your good graces, you need to come to my Syndolan party this year!”

“I am getting too old for such entertainments. Those are for younger people, if you can drag them away from the pleasure houses.”

Those had always been here but it was unusual for the King’s minister to mention it. Rosscranith belonged to the age when men married early and only used such places for what they did not enjoy at home … or special appetites. Nag Kath played the innocent. Perhaps this was an opportunity to further Shurran’s education, “That is news to me, not blessed unions I should think.”

“Aye, and not putting future soldiers to suck either.” The big Northman laughed, “And it is all your fault! With exotic females from the east, lads aren’t driven to the marriage bed. Still, I suppose it is better than spear-men on hairy horses.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath said hello to everyone but spent most of his time making sense of Elrond’s notes. A few medicine and spell combinations were left as-written. Some had corrections but were not reentered. About half of the book was abandoned. Of that; half was substantially altered and rewritten on pages in the back. The other half must have gone to a sister volume now lost. He parsed through the discarded text just the same since it was considerably better than nothing. A lot was older text in Quenya so he could copy it but not understand it.

It took the better part of a week to create a working copy in his own hand, much of that time spent looking-up words he had never seen before or making learned guesses. This was a different sort of conjuring than the wizards used. He did not know how to summon the humors. It would be a long time before he could use any of this but he was that much closer. Nag Kath would ask Lady Arwen at her convenience and rummage through the usual Elvish places on the way south.

Shurran used his time seeing his friends and paying a visit to cousin Lilac. The Carstors had a very nice house “upstairs”. Since the Conath home was only a hundred paces away, he had no trouble dropping by, ostensibly delivering a letter from sister Lillith that probably detailed some scheme to marry him into society. Not the usual delivery man, the maid showed him in and took the envelope to her mistress.

Lilac Iömendel looked just like her older sister but a shade shorter with dark brown eyes. She was a half-niece or half first-cousin once-removed, not that it mattered. Shurran knew she was twenty three with a small daughter who came running a few steps behind her. He bowed and Lilac did the same. The child never stopped.

Lilac smiled and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, cousin Shurran.” She showed him to a comfortable couch in the great room. The girl followed shrieking in fun from a previous game. Her mother looked at the maid who clapped her hands with a face of delight saying, “Who wants a cookie?” That removed the lass as fast as feet could tread for however long it would take to enjoy her treat.

Shurran said, “I apologize for coming unannounced. My family home is just on Vue Sorotten. I can return at a better time.”

She giggled and said, “Nay cousin Shurran, or is it Uncle? It is always madness before her nap. I’ll see if I can’t manage proper introductions before you go. How are father and mother?”

“Both well. We had an enjoyable weekend with your family and the Urbans as well.”

“Forgive my woeful family knowledge but you are from the Buhrs, yes?”

“Austar, but father has been our ambassador in Minas Tirith these last three years. The family came for the wedding in Rohan and we continued up.”

Shurran was right that the letter he delivered told he was single, so when he said ‘we’ twice, she asked, “You do not journey alone then?”

“No, I am with my grandfather. By a strange twist of fate, I had four of them, though he is the last still with us.”

Trained to be perfectly polite, Lilac complimented him, “How nice it is that you spend time with him at an age when travel becomes slower.”

Shurran wasn’t sure how much he wanted to explain Uncle Nag so he just said, “He still moves fairly well, cousin Lilac. If I don’t miss my guess, he is organizing his Syndolan party as we speak. I will make sure you and your husband are invited.” The second heir to Dale had to stifle a laugh. At least the Elf was out of firework powders and couldn’t incinerate the wharf.

“Then I hope to meet him. My husband is away just now but we must have you to dinner when he returns. Will you be here long, cousin Shurran?”

“Please, just Shurran. I should be here at least until His Lordship’s wedding.”

New squealing sounded from the kitchen. Shurran was sure this was not convenient so he asked to be excused for other business and was shown the door. Walking back to Uncle Nag’s he realized he knew nothing about her husband.

_____________--------_____________

He didn’t hear back from Lilac. Oh well, one should not be hasty embracing long-lost relatives. A month later it was time to prepare for the end-of-the-year celebration. As Nag said, many old friends brought their grown children, or the children were coming and the old friends were watching the grandkids. No matter. Nag Kath knew how to throw a party.

Brenen and Bard came with most of their children. At one time there were as many as five Hobbits. For the first time, Golord came along with some of his vast supply of nephews to join the singing. Dwarves love to sing. It was said they knew how to play the echoes in their grand mountain halls. A wine merchant militiaman from Dorwinion insisted on bringing a small cask of the finest to go with two barrels of the local tan. The musicians were newly together but had long separate experience with the songs.

In the relative lull between the early and late-comers, a tall fellow of decidedly military bearing escorted two women inside, both wearing hooded cloaks against the cold. He hung those on the pegs revealing very attractive ladies of an age with Bard and Brenen’s broods. One looked familiar. Nag Kath was wrestling with a finger-food table someone sat on and broke the leg. His usual greeting would have to wait a minute.

That job was filled by Shurran who spoke with them and then approached the table, now propped on the first ale keg. “May I present Lilac Iömendel and Graciel Iömendel? Ladies, this is my grandfather, Nag Kath.”

Grandfather?! Everyone heard Nag Kath stories, even if they were likely complete hogwash. The women had heard fewer of them since they did not frequent public houses, but even so, the half-Elven was known. For his part, he bowed and said, “Welcome to our celebration. Is that Lilac, daughter of Lord Carstors?”

“It is, Lord Kath.” He would lose the lord another time.

He looked around the room, “Well, I hope you can sing because we seem to have lost our Hobbits.” Bard walked over gave the other woman a kiss on the cheek, “Hello Gracie. You just missed Bart. Renelda is still here.” He used his height to spot Brenen’s daughter and waved her over for more cheek kisses. 

Graciel was probably in her mid-twenties, so of an age with the next generation here. She had very long light brown hair and gray eyes. The attractive woman smiled and said, “Everyone, this is Lilac. Ren, how do you know our host?”

Renelda, Nag Kath had to remember not to call her Bugs, said, “He is my grandfather.” 

The grand-da broke through the confused silence, “On the subject Ren, where are your ma and da?” 

“They left to watch my bairns. I’ll just collect Gemmi and wake them up. Night, Uncle Nag.” He got a kiss too.

Lilac gave a sly smile and said, “You seem grandfather to Dale.”

“Most of them are here, except for Shur’s two sisters. Shurran’s grandmother and I were married for many years.” He looked at Graciel as if to ask her relationship. Lilac caught that before it hit the floor, “Grace is my sister-in-law.” Both women wore rings of matrimony.

Bard added, “And grew up with ours. Her da had the chandlers’ concession in the Featherlight district.” Nag Kath knew Lilac was raised at the lovely estate he just visited so she was fairly new to Dale.

Graciel smiled at Bard and said, “I am sorry to have missed Bart.”

I will tell him, but Ros is just …” he scanned the room; “ … talking with Mrs. Hinnith, I think. Come, let us say hello.” As the women followed him towards the kitchen, Nag Kath looked at Shurran and asked, “Husbands?”

“Lilac said hers is away.” Most family not wintering in Dale were somewhere else for a while since bad weather would keep all but the most determined travelers safe by their fires. Their escort was still standing by the door surveying the crowd. Nag Kath took him a mug of tea said if any of the finger-foods went missing, no one would mind. The first wave was the rowdy one this night and everyone was gone by the twelve-bell. One of Bard’s cleaning crews would be here in the morning to assess the damage. 

Whenever he drank more than a single beverage, Nag Kath might sleep a little before his wakeful rest. Tonight he slept until he heard Bard’s folk ‘screeing’ furniture across the floor downstairs. The cook/housekeeper this year was Fern and she was preparing porridge and eggs as usual. Shurran was already up with his face over a steaming mug of strong tea. He usually did not drink much, but might have had an extra cup or two of that fine Dorwinion.

The Elf walked downstairs barefoot and sat next to him. Fern brought him tea and retreated back to the fire. Tea was not so hot that he couldn’t take a long pull before saying, “Your cousin looks a lot like her sister. Did you say she has one babe?”

“Aye; a cute little girl with an ear-piercing squeal. They live in a grand house. Don’t know anything about her man. It seems her friend knows your other family.”

“That helps at gatherings. I left here twelve years ago so those your age had not come into their own. I have gotten to know them, but a little less each generation. If they are wedded sisters-in-law, they must be married to brothers. Sorry Shur, not a lot of single women last night.”

Shurran took a long draft and smiled, “A few. Well; new year ... four months until Bain and Xondra wed. Will you be busy with your book?”

“Some, it uses healing I do not understand. Perhaps there is a scholar here who can help me with the Quenya. I will have to ask better questions on our way back to Gondor. There are a few more people left to see in town, and I need to learn that new bow ... Now, what about you, young man?”

“I thought to make myself useful at the city works office and spend time in the jewelry shop of Gerrulth. I was a bit surprised to see my cousin here after not hearing for a month. Their minder is an imposing fellow.”

Nag Kath held his chin and guessed, “From Arnor, I’ll wager. He would be watching Lilac if the other girl is from the Featherlight. It is a respectable neighborhood, but not overrun with bodyguards.”

Two days after the party, a week-long blizzard arrived from the northwest burying Dale under three feet of snow. That was followed by enough warm weather to melt it slightly followed by bitter cold so the streets were covered in ice until late January. When that finally cleared the weather warmed enough for Nag Kath and Shurran to chance visiting Mrs. Borenne in Lake Town. It was only nineteen miles away and on good horses with a clear road it was a two hour ride. 

She was right. The cane was leaning against the door jamb. She still moved slowly but could get around her home comfortably and had an unending stream of friends to fill the time. They stayed two days and barely made it back to Dale before another blizzard.

This one cleared more quickly thanks to a lot of warmer rain. Weather like this above Osgiliath caused fevers. That could happen here too but the drainage was much better into the River Running. On the first dry night, Nag Kath went to a soldier’s pub two blocks down for a pint and pie. Three men from his old militia unit were fleeing two weeks of their wives’ constant company. If he was interested, they said a master swordsman of Arnor was staying the winter and taught classes on his technique. Nag Kath had heard of these fellows before. They practiced very deliberately, the idea being that slow perfection could be brought up to speed without wasted motion. There was an element of mindfulness as well; perhaps something like Nag Kath’s waking rest. The next class was two days hence at the officer’s mess hall on the ten-bell.

It sounded interesting. Variags also had such disciplines and they were practiced at Hanvas Tûr by right-living folk, and not necessarily warriors. The slow, precise movements were said to bring focus to keep men from thinking of too many things at once. Nag Kath did not have time to participate then but he did watch them. In Khand that was done outside. In freezing Dale, space was reserved on Thursday mornings in the smaller officer’s mess near the Erebor gate. Not sure what to expect, the Elf brought both his Elvish blade and a wooden beater. He thought about bringing the Rohirric weapon but only polished it and put it back in the case.

The ten-bell found eight men waiting in the mess hall close to the stove. Ages ranged from sixteen to perhaps thirty-six. The quality of their cloth varied too. Several women and children were sitting on tables or benches that had been pushed against the wall. These students had already been to the first two lessons and were limbering muscles but not saying much. Nag Kath did not recognize any of them and they didn’t seem to know him. His hair finally covered his ears, even if he still looked like a Puklak pony. 

The instructor arrived right on time with a grim nod and looked for a moment at his new student. Nag Kath put him at nearly fifty with hair and beard more white than dark. If he was from Arnor, he wasn’t of the tall, northern folk but he looked fit and moved like a cat. The man walked over without introduction and said lessons were two groats or six for a tenner. The Elf pulled two fives from his vest and handed it to him wordlessly. Names could wait.

So could preliminaries, it seemed. The man growled in the language of sergeants everywhere for the men to take beater swords from a bag in the corner. Nag Kath pulled his since he knew the weight. The instructor told them to assume the neutral position from last week with the dominant foot back and sword held at the ready from the center of the body to as far as the sword armpit. The Elf could use either side but generally worked right-handed since most people did.

As the students held their pose, the swordsman walked among them to adjust elbows, knees, foot spacing and sword angles. Two looked like they had never held the weapon before. They were more-or-less in the right position but their muscles were frozen in place. The fellow did this for a living so he softened from the pure drill sergeant telling them to hold the pose with as little effort as possible. Burry would have done the same against needing them fit when the Lings came over the wall. When he got to Nag Kath at the end of the line, he pushed the sword to either side and said, “Hummph.”

“Aw right!” All sergeants say that too. “The reason to hold the weapon in this position is not so you can leave it there. It is here so you can raise, parry or slash quickly. Sometimes you will go in already decided but we are talking about individual combat with an unknown foe. He may make a mistake and you will only get one chance. This week we will work on the raised defense. In the best of worlds you would be moving forward but that is not always possible. First I will show you the move and then we will slow by breath.” The man put his right foot forward and then rapidly drew back a step as he gripped the sword with two hands and raised it parallel to the ground over his head. That was the whole motion. 

He did it several more times at speed to show the start and ending and then brought his feet together to explain, “Aw right. Now I will do this in steps. If ever you can, you want to breathe-in on the motion because you want to exhale for the strike. That is not always possible and you mustn’t give your opponent an opening gasping for air at the wrong time. The man repeated his motion much slower starting with the inhale. “Aw right, you do it.”

Students gave themselves space enough and started waving their beaters around much too fast. One student who looked like he had swung the sword for real and Nag Kath were as slow and deliberate as the master with their legs ready for the forward thrust. The man glanced at them and then started taking the other six through it again. They all repeated the move about twenty times until everyone showed some fluidity in motion. 

Doing something that slowly taxes the muscles. In olden lore, tales of heroes fighting for hours make the legend entertaining. In a real sword-fight, even hardened veterans lose speed in fifteen minutes. They can still rely on power and stamina but they will not be as fast when the muscles are howling and the blood rush of the first attack is spent. The instructor walked over to Nag Kath and said, “Show me.”

The Elf repeated the motion with a minimum of effort and held the raised position. The man walked around him shaking his back knee and pushing his thumb into the both sides of the thigh. A quick nod was approval and then he was back to the greenbottoms who were holding their pose with great effort. Seeing they were tired, the man ordered, “Break. Good work. Loosen those limbs and we will try again shortly.”

As the men straggled over to a water jug, Nag Kath tried one more move and followed behind. The instructor walked over and said, I’m Khellandar, Kurd Khellandar. You’ve swung a sword before or I’m a fool.”

The Elf reached his hand saying, “Nag Kath. Swung one many times.”

“Kath … Kath of the Celduin?”

“The same.”

Khellandar said cannily, “You’re not here for militia practice.”

“Nay, I’ve always relied more on speed than technique. My footwork needs attention.”

“Hummmph.”

A few minutes later the men were threatening the mess hall again. Khellandar took them through a more offensive version of moving the lead foot forward rather than the power foot back until he thought arms might fall off. Then with high praise he dismissed everyone until next Thursday. The trainer was not the sort for ale at lunch. He collected a woman about his age from the viewers and walked out.

_____________--------_____________

Next week’s sword practice only had seven of the last week’s eight but both greenbottoms were smiling and ready. Khellandar had arrived early to work with another man individually and he took his place in the line at the ten-bell. This lesson built on the last by adding a downward slash. For a right-hand attack against a right-handed foe, getting there first was of the moment. The Arnoran was less pedantic today with fewer repetitions, concentrating on breathing correctly for the stroke.

Nag Kath and the other soldier did well and the others improved. Students were expected to practice during the week and they had. By the eleven half-bell everyone was tired but that much more capable. The sixteen year-old’s father was on the bench this time and clapped his lad on the shoulder before going home.

The Elf’s third week started about the same as the first two except from the basic position they would work on the parry. Again, epic campfire stories are replete with the good and bad wading in for what seems like individual combat. In a melee, you look for gaps in the back of enemy armor and finish men or orcs when they are down. When your mates are cleaning-up, you have to watch their backs. Either way, you may need to buy time.

“Aw right. From neutral you need to block an incoming blow. Maybe you can deflect it but you have to slow it, and better with your sword than your face.” Khellandar went through a series of three defensive two handed positions; one high to protect from an overhead slash, one center for the chest and face and another if someone tries to hamstring you. 

These motions were designed for use with the long infantry sword of Gondor and Arnor, the same weapon King Elessar carried. Straight and double-edged, they had a large hilt guard designed to stop a sword slash that ran down the blade towards the wrists. Nag Kath’s Elvish and Rohirric swords were essentially cavalry weapons without pronounced guards. He would have to flick an enemy weapon away in the motion, not that it mattered much at his real speed. Khellandar only used the wooden beaters in his class. There may be more advance training elsewhere, but he wanted everyone’s ears kept on the sides of their heads. 

Two women joined the viewers halfway through. Nag Kath only noticed them peripherally since this was eyes-forward training. Khellandar tested their positions. Warriors might have to use any of the parries without notice. The man came at them at something less than full speed to make them react. The wrong response only netted a mild tap. The man wanted students to recognize the most likely point of attack. “Now listen, I am not being fair because how you defend depends on your armor. With stout greaves, make sure your arms and body are protected first. If you carry long shields, block with those and thrust through the gaps.”

He kept testing each student individually for the first actual contact Nag Kath had seen. Beaters are made of good oak, cut so the grain is parallel to the imaginary blade and often hardened by fire. They make a distinctive report for a telling strike. Even when fooled, he had no trouble blocking the tepid attacks.

Dismissed, Khellandar stayed with Nag Kath after the others collected their coats and viewers. “You parried low even after you flinched up to start. Take me through the rise and then the three defenses.”

The Elf did so very slowly, concentrating on his breathing.

“Now; do it live.”

Nag Kath did not use the fast but even his Elf speed was nearly a blur. 

“Hummmph.”

Läis Owans, one of the older men in the class, was talking with the two women who arrived during drills as Nag Kath walked over to the water jug. As he got closer, he recognized Graciel Iömendel at the same time she saw him. The Elf bowed and said it was nice to see her again. Owans introduced his wife Bettild who had brought her friend to watch her heroic husband work up a sweat. It being just past eleven-half, in Hobbit dining, they would get a meal at the Brave Navigator along the high street.

Seated, Nag Kath said, “He doesn’t say much, does he?”

Läis agreed, “Khellandar? No, but it is easy to tell his meaning. Northmen are often of few words but men of Fornost make them seem blathering. Now what about you, Nag Kath? You don’t need to be told anything twice.”

“I was hoping to learn the very slow motions in perfecting the basics. In Khand, groups of our size or greater work in precision as warriors and to clear their minds for the task at hand.” He chuckled, “I do not think our lot is there yet, but we get closer every week!”

Bettild said, “Khand? Was this a troop come here to parlay?”

“Nay, good lady. I was there to parlay, almost a year and a half all counted.”

Graciel smiled sweetly and asked, “Was that of your grandfatherly chores?”

The Owans wondered about that so he quickly brought them up to speed with Shurran and Brenen. Bettild raised an eyebrow prompting the rest of the explanation.

He said, “I went through Rhûn to talk with both rulers about troubles to their west. That went well and I returned last year.” No one mentioned the Celduin fight. That had been the talk of the season but seasons come and go. Lunch was tasty they said goodbye until next week.

_____________--------_____________

Shurran stayed busy at the city office. The works architect had four projects for the new King, including a monument to Bard. Dale did not have sculptors experienced in that scale so it was taking a long time to decide on the stone and how to get it there. It was too bad Timalen was so far away. The city also had to repair one of the little aqueducts feeding the upper eastern levels of the city. Uncle Nag lent a hand.

At next week’s sword practice, the Owans were not there but Graciel came by herself. Good looking women seldom attended soldiers’ training unescorted, but this was during the day in a public building. They worked on a series of movements more like the ones Nag Kath saw the Variags do. Their northern version was less artistic than the near-dance of the east but moving to the flow of the group helped the individuals. Afterwards, Graciel approached and gleamed, “You must practice often.”

“I do, the hard part is how to not need to think first and lose time in peril.”

They left the building together in a light drizzle that became a torrent not forty feet from the building. Graciel flipped up her hood and cried, “This way.” They hurried another fifty paces and she unlocked a door leading to an upstairs apartment. The fire was nearly out so she hung her cloak on the door-peg and added kindling to build it back. Graciel looked at his riot of wet hair and got him a towel from the bedroom. Her quarters were two small rooms with a glass window in each. Modestly furnished, it was clean and cheerful, or would be if rain wasn’t blocking the sun. They sat close to each other to hear over the din.

For lack of something interesting to say he thanked her, “Fortunate you are here or I would have gotten a worse wetting!”

She looked at his wild hair and smiled before saying, “Just give me a minute.” Graciel went to the stove and added larger pieces of wood from the bucket and then put an iron kettle over the grate. While she was busy, he noticed the masculine elements of the main room. There was a sword hanging from a traditional wall mount, a man’s coat next to hers and a weed-pipe on its stand next to a leaf canister on the kitchen table. He also noticed that Graciel’s damp dress revealed a very attractive shape. She had offered him kind protection from the storm so he would mind his manners. Graciel walked to the window and looked up into the gray before sitting. “The tea will be a while.”

“I do not mind. Thank you for thinking of it. I did not get details on Syndolan but you are Lilac’s sister-in-law, right?”

“Yes, her husband and mine are brothers. She is from the lake and only married four years ago.”

He paid her a compliment, “You cannot have been married much longer than that.”

“Five years, well, five years in May.”

“Does your husband work close by?”

Her face fell slightly. She collected herself and said, “His business often takes him away.”

“With the winters of Dale, that can get you a freezing as well as a soaking, or tall waves sailing the Long Lake.”

“Yes, I do worry sometimes. The lake is a harsh mistress.” She looked at the kettle but no steam was showing yet. The fire was doing its job as the small rooms warmed enough for Nag Kath to remove his sweater and drape it on a chair to dry.

There was tension building, a good tension. He said, “Shurran and I were recently in Lake Town. His great grandmother lives there as she always has, in her eighties and still quick of wit.”

Glad of something safe to say, Graciel replied, “And you said you saw Lilac’s people further south. I only know her from here. I confess; I do not travel much, Lord Kath.”

He smiled and said, “I do not wear Lord well. Call me Nag Kath. May I call you Graciel?”

“Or Grace.”

“Grace it is.”

The kettle started rumbling. Grace grasped it with a large, padded mitt and poured two mugs through a wicker strainer. She returned to put them on the low table sitting as close as she had when it was raining harder. The young woman smiled and asked, “Are you part of the Kingly wedding in April?”

The tea needed to steep so he set his mug down and modestly said, “I will attend, but I have no part to play. Shur will be seated near the throne, probably with Lilac’s da if he is here. I think Brenen is planning a party at his home.”

“That is right! You know Bard and Bart. We lived close to them when I was small. Perhaps I met you then.”

“Will you and Mr. Iömendel attend?”

This time she could not keep her pretty smile. Nag Kath’s first instinct was that they were not invited and he had embarrassed her. This wound was deeper, much deeper. In barely a whisper, “I do not think Geordon will come.”

His eyes had tricked him. He saw the sword and pipe and a dry coat someone should be wearing … but not a stray shoe or clothes or smell of meals lovingly prepared for two. All he could say was, “Forgive me. I did not … “

“It is not your doing, Nag Kath.” Her sweet smile returned, “Though, this is.” She removed her own sweater, “I came to watch you move slowly this morning.”

_____________--------_____________

The neighbors probably didn’t hear anything for the rain. He held her close in the small bed, her head on his shoulder as he looked at the ceiling. It had been a very long time, for him at least. She wasn’t sleeping but was very still, a dozen thoughts unable to dislodge her feelings. He enjoyed a woman’s fulfillment, the way they breathe, they way they radiate afterwards. Creatures of water.

The rain had slowed to dribbles off the roof tiles. Nag Kath rose and wandered over to the window. It would be about three now. He climbed back in bed and kissed her. 

He wondered what happens now. She was not Flor; inexperienced and unsure how to take what she needed. Nor Eniece; just emerging into life after long healing. Grace seemed very close to Tal, the difference being how they had been left alone. Kataleese? Whilmina? No, but the thought had him roll over for more affection.

They dressed for early dinner and found their way to a small restaurant she knew. No one there seemed to know her. He thought eating out might not be in her budget, or anyone else’s in the neighborhood, since they had the room to themselves. This was probably a place for ale after work.

Grace was distracted, in the best of ways, and said, “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I am curious though.”

“I married the elder son of Vordon Iömendel. My father was a respected businessman of the quarter and it was a good match. Geordon is a handsome, charming man who understands a woman’s heart, much as you do Lord Kath.” She smiled, having said that on purpose. “It wasn’t until after we married that he discovered my father’s partner owned most of the interest. 

“Geordon drifted back to his last love, now a widow of independent means. She’s thrown him out a couple times and he crawled back to me swearing undying devotion.”

With genuine interest Nag Kath asked, “Why do you not divorce the man and have done with this?” He had forgotten he was not in Minas Tirith.

“Money. Father suspected the all too solicitous bounder so he left me his estate as a trust to be paid to me at thirty. The trouble is; I cannot gain it to pay for a divorce and as long as Geordon is still my husband, he can lay claim to it then. For now; I get a silver a month and I work in a shop two days a week. It is enough.

“Now, you seem very mysterious, grandfather of Dale.”

“I am indeed. Here you see a wayward Elf allied with both Dale and Gondor. I am warrior, diplomat and healer, depending on who you ask. I confess; it had been some time since I held a woman close. That was wonderful.”

“You seemed to remember most of it.”

He chuckled, “Perhaps you can show me what I forgot?”

“Yes, I hope so”

He held his chin, usually reserved for momentous thoughts, “I have a few chores tomorrow but would you join me for dinner on Saturday?”

“You are not worried about being seen in the company of a married woman?”

Nag Kath showed the infamous grin, “It could only help my social standing.”

“Shall we say six?”

He walked home without noticing the drizzle. Fern made fish, which Shurran largely devoured himself. On a different day, Nag Kath would have reminded him that Northmen and limitless food were not good company. 

When a man has been deeply satisfied, the men around him can tell, even in the absence of smells and complexion and occasional fingernail scratches, but they have to know that of themselves. Shurran didn’t give that sense. The young man fiddled with a drawing of the water trough by lamplight without once betraying a hint of understanding. This was more a White City sensibility than the forest clans of Dale, but at nineteen, it seemed to Uncle Nag that Shurran needed to learn more than bearing-loads. What had Rosscranith said; eastern lovelies were in supply? 

In the morning he strolled to the scholar’s quarter. His two experts were beyond the circle of life but one sign was promising so he knocked and waited until a crone opened the door and stared. Nag Kath suspected staring with those eyes did not yield much so he said, “I have to come to see if Master Leddifur reads Elvish languages.”

She shook her head meaning either he didn’t or she didn’t know. Closing the door without a word, it was reopened by a man of about forty who had not understood his mother’s account. Nag Kath took the lead, “Good morning, sir. I came to see if you read Quenya or can recommend someone who can.”

He shook his head too, saying only, “Your best chance is with Scholar Welshorn. He has a little Sindarin. That is as close as I can get you. Third door on the other side of the street.”

Welshorn; a Hobbit name? The Northman was having a late breakfast before visiting his students for tutoring. He was sixty at least so of an age when there were still Elves here. The scholar was dressed to leave but listened patiently as Nag Kath explained.

After thinking a moment he said, "I know a little Quenya, or I did. What do you need?”

“I need you to do some translating, sir. I should like to retain you to help me decipher an old text that has come my way. That would include your normal charge and expenses.”

Scholar Welshorn did not get a lot of cash offers. Nag Kath gave him a card and the man said he would come by after his two-bell student.

Welshorn arrived just before the four-bell. He puffed to the door and Fern let him in. The man carried a satchel like Nag Kath’s and looked around the main room before the Elf walked down the stairs to shake hands and show him to a chair at the table. Welshorn waited as the blonde man presented an old book with no outer markings. Nag Kath flipped through several pages before turning the book so the scholar could see. Then he said, “I came by this recently. I can read the Sindolan. My Quenya is halting.”

The scholar was at home with old books. He glanced through most of it and returned to the page his benefactor showed him. Without saying a word, he rummaged through his sack and produced his own notebook. Finally he said, “I do not mean to cheat you, Mr. Kath. What little I knew of that tongue is hidden in the recesses of my poor mind. In the days of Elves, I made these pages that gave Quenya words along with the Sindarin or Westron equivalent. Few of them match. The structure is the issue. It may take me quite a while to make sense of this, if I ever do.”

Nag Kath considered that for a minute and said, “That is the best offer I have gotten.” He slid his own notebook over to the scholar and said, “This is what I have made of it and I believe the Quenya is fairly rendered.” Then he slid a nipper alongside saying, “Take as long as you need.”

The scholar’s only problem was how to make change on that coin without his shrewish wife’s knowledge. Shurran passed him in the doorway when he came home from the city architects. Recognizing the cap he asked, “Can he read it?”

“A little. I am running out of people to ask.”

Fern did not live-in. She arrived early for breakfast, did light housekeeping and made the evening meal before washing and going home. Nag Kath told her he had other dinner arrangements tomorrow. Shurran gathered he should make his own too.

Graciel arrived well before six. The former tavern he converted to his home was different without forty people all talking at the same time. It featured a large great room that took most of the first floor with the sleeping and storage rooms upstairs. After she was seated on the couch he asked, “What kind of food do you like?”

“I love lamb.”

Not the perfect answer, but Millikens served it along with things he could eat. He helped her back into her coat and they walked a block to the little restaurant. It would get busy in half an hour but they got a table right away. He ordered wine for two.

The woman gave him a long appraisal and said, “I have inquired about you. Did you know you are famous?”

“Here and other places too, though for different things.”

“That was you in Dorwinion?”

“Guilty as charged. I was on the Gondor front. Shurran’s da and the Buhric troops closed the trap from the north. It could have gone the wrong way.”

“Mordor?!”

“Aye, that’s why I was in Khand. Bit of politics; that. Enough about me, I want to hear more about the lady from the Featherlight.”

“There is not much to tell. I am a merchant’s only child, born to my parents late in life. They were a loving couple and died within a year of each other. I have friends, no enemies and I work at Fedro’s Linens on Mondays and Tuesdays, nice folks.”

Their wine arrived and he held his cup up in a silent toast. Her cup tapped against it with a dull click and they sipped. She said, “Back to you. How old are you?”

“Thirty eight.”

“A bit young for a grandfather.”

“I was born a creature in the service of the dark wizard Saruman and became an Elf in the war; full grown but too late for them to claim. I travel around the world exploring, sometimes in peril. I think it a good life. My step-children are older than I am.”

She guessed he would not answer and teased, “And what does a girl make of you?”

He did not take the bait but enjoyed her smile, answering softly, “I have been married twice; once to great joy and once to sorrow. As you know, I enjoy the company of passionate women. I cannot give them children.”

Their food arrived. She had not had lamb in two years. He ate very little but told her he wouldn’t so she could enjoy her dinner. Somehow it came up about her estranged husband being brother-in-law to Lilac of the South Lake. Grace wasn’t offended. “If you can tell me you were a dark servant, I suppose I can say that Lilac has the same trouble with her man that I have with mine; greedy boys, very good looking. Fedrandol thought Lilac’s da might be the King of Dale. Now Bain will marry a fertile Northwoman and the Carstors girls split a home on the lake in twenty years. I think Fedrandol casts a wider net than my Geordon. Haven’t seen either of them in four months.”

“So she needs a gentleman for the wedding or has to tell da?”

“Fraid so. Lillith probably knows. I met Lilac through the brothers, ordinarily too lordly for my lot. But we like each other and it is good to have someone to cry with.” Graciel was trying to be tough but that was the threshold. She daubed her eyes with her sleeve and said, “Forgive me. I keep asking you that.”

“Do not fret. We all have troubles. The King of Erebor is enraged with me. I hope he does not start a war before the wedding.”

The man simply would not be serious! She slowly laughed at his jest. It was good to hear her laugh.

The next morning, Shurran was having porridge and Fern was humming in the kitchen. Nag Kath wandered down with his hair in more disarray than usual. Shurran asked, “Have a good time?”

While the Elf considered that, Graciel followed wearing his heavy socks and towel robe. Shurran didn’t stare before rising as she sat at the main table. She looked tousled too with a pleasant smile. Good for you, Uncle Nag! Fern walked out as if this happened every day and asked if the lady would like breakfast. She would, so extra eggs were scrambled directly.

Grace stole a look at Shurran. Lilac said he was the one to pair, not for Grace but some hill maiden with no current husbands. He could probably father strong children too. The Elf did not figure into the calculus at all. Strange how that works. Eggs were a luxury for the poor girl. As she made short work of hers, Nag Kath wondered once again what he had gotten himself into. He decided he had gotten into exactly what he liked most and devil the rest. He still planned to go to Gondor in May and would see what happened with Graciel. She would know everything about him first. The woman went back upstairs to dress. Shurran watched her closely. When Grace returned, she gave Nag Kath a soft smile and went home. The plan was to have dinner again in two days.

There was no food left on Shurran’s plate so there was no reason for him to study his reflection so intently. The Elf had not spent much time worrying about the young man’s needs. He was pushing twenty and had been in the company of well-off lads his own age in Minas Tirith, no bastion of country values; Minas Tirith. Throw in a couple Feasts of Tellarian and he might have learned a thing or two. Nag Kath said, “Shur, you look unwell.”

Shurran snapped out of his reverie, “Sorry Nag, I am fine, too many thoughts at the same time.” 

“I know the feeling.”

**_A Gentleman’s Education_ **

Reyald and Ardatha might not forgive him any sooner than Thorin Stonehelm, but since the young man was in his care, Nag Kath would see to his continued good health. The Elf strolled to an area of Dale where Khandian immigrants had been settling. It was not the habit of those people to put signs in front of their businesses. What sensible person would not know what they did? He found what he was looking for and went in. 

This was a depot, of sorts, servicing merchants plying the new trade routes this very Elf had expanded a few years before, not that they knew or cared. In the common-tongue, he asked a porter at the desk to speak to the Dulpachur. The man offered a truly insincere smile and said there was no such person at this humble establishment. Nag Kath leaned in and murmured in Khandian, “Perhaps my friend in Ûbésêsh was mistaken.”

The smile stayed glued in place but the eyes reconsidered. “I will see if such a person is known here.” He disappeared through the door into the go-down. A few minutes later he was back and said, “Please follow me, best of sirs.”

They walked through the usual storehouse hallways until reaching a strongly reinforced door. His guide gestured for Nag Kath to go inside. The door was unlocked. The interior was much better appointed with tapestries beside glass windows above the street level and thick carpets. There was a table with chairs on one side of the room and the deep sitting pillows favored in and below the capital.

Sitting at a desk in-between them was a thin, soldierly man in ordinary dress looking through papers. He seemed about forty with short black hair and a thin, trimmed beard. The Khandian looked up without expression and then rose to come within eight feet and bowed. Nag Kath did the same. The fellow said in heavily-accented Westron, “The porter said you were looking for a government official of lands beyond the Rhûn. Of course, there is no one here in that capacity.”

Nag Kath replied in Variag with the hint of a Rhûnish drawl, “That is of no moment.” He handed the non-government man a fine, sealed envelope saying, “This is a note for Juegesh, Chamberlain of Khagan Yigresh. It is not urgent or secret. I was hoping someone might take it to him in your normal course of business. I do not need to be paid. This is just tying up loose ends.”

The letter simply thanked the Chancellor for receiving the Broric embassy and that troubles to their west had been resolved to the benefit of his Excellency. They already knew that, but the Variag here was well down the ladder from the palace. If the tall barbarian wanted to send a letter to an esteemed person, he could manage that. He could also invite him to sit for tea.

Nag Kath would like to have tried the soft pillows but he was taken to the table for fresh Telandren, instantly brought. To reinforce how important this unimportant message was, the Elf took a nipper out of his vest pocket and gave it to the gentleman saying, “I know the long and dangerous road someone must take. Perhaps this ensures their safety.” They both knew whoever would take the letter would do so with whatever else they were taking home for considerably less than a quarter Florin. 

That bought an introduction, “I am Jealhouz. You are wise to insist on secure transportation.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jealhouz. I am Solvanth.”

“Very good, Mr. Solvansh. It seems you have experience of faraway places. Are you a native of Dale?”

“No Mr. Jealhouz, my business brings me here but I keep households in the east and south.”

Household did not mean the same thing in Dale and Khand. A Northman could only marry one wife, have no official concubines and endure shouting brats under the same roof, an intolerable situation for a civilized man. This Solvansh would know that. Jealhouz offered understandingly, “It can be hard to find life’s necessities when one travels, yes?”

The tall blonde man with the Rhûnish accent considered that carefully before saying, “It is good to find one who understands that health is essential for successful business. Where might a man inquire after such necessities?”

“Pelighur, seventeen, Alley of the Arrow. You might say Ostren referred you.”

Nag Kath rose with a bow, knowing a handshake was offensive, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Jealhouz. Blessings grace your day.”

Mr. Solvanth ambled to the furnishings district and looked at wares. That carpet in the non-government man’s office was much nicer than anything he had ever owned. He paid quite a bit for two comparable rugs to be delivered to his house later in the day. Nag Kath also stopped by a modest building with a Dalish seventeen painted on the door and asked a young man for Mr. Pelighur. The fellow nodded and retreated into a back room. Less than a minute later, a Variag of about fifty came out with the young man and said, “How can I help, best of sirs?”

The Elf answered in Westron, “Mr. Ostren recommended your services.”

Pelighur considered that a moment. Nag Kath supposed that ‘Ostren’ was the name to be given for the most important referrals, the sort that paid well and should have no comebacks. There would be different names for lesser clients. The man told his clerk in Khandian to attend something in the back. Just then, a very attractive young woman, like Chûran must have been, came downstairs with a pleased-looking Northman and showed him to a side door.

Western men were supposed to eschew such impulses, not that all did. The Elf knew Khandians viewed them as normal and that constraining them brought trouble.

Pelighur asked, “Sir has special needs?”

“Quite ordinary. A healthy young man I know needs seasoning. I am reliably told that this is the right address.”

“A friend of Mr. Ostren can expect the best.”

“Can you have the right lady visit this address tomorrow at the late five-half bell?”

The fellow looked at the otherwise blank slip of paper and said evenly, “I believe so. The right lady will be rigorously selected according to our strict standards. For such a talented person, the cost is a mere two silvers.”

Nag Kath had expected this. He did not know a great deal about such economies. That was an exorbitant sum compared to tending soldiers on payday. It might be that haggling was part of the process but it was also possible that the highest references meant he would not be gouged. As usual, the Elf figured that he really didn’t care and this was a one-time expense. He took three coins from his vest pocket and handed two to the man. Then he held his finger alongside his nose before vanishing into the market crowd.

Before Shurran returned home, Nag Kath walked into the kitchen where Fern was preparing the evening meal. She was a spare woman, nearing fifty, who had been a servant since she was fourteen. Fern was in Rosalin’s pool of reliable cook/housekeepers if tenants needed ready help. She didn’t hear him walk in before he said, “Fern, I would like a minute if nothing will burn.”

She had gotten used to not hearing the master float around the home and wasn’t startled when she heard his voice, “No, Mr. Kath. I won’t start the fish for a bit.” She dried her hands on the apron and turned.

“Fern, I just wanted to say that I think you are doing a fine job. With the wedding we may be doing more entertaining. Here are three silvers.” He handed her the coins saying, “I would like you to get yourself new clothes and shoes in the event we have dinners with esteemed persons. Spend most of it and keep the rest in thanks for your fine work.”

This was a fortune to the domestic. Five months’ salary out of the clear blue sky! She curtsied again and whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Kath.”

“Shurran and I have plans for tomorrow night so after breakfast take the day off. Come back the next night for the usual supper.”

Fern was a deal sharper than dear Tella. She floated, “Your pardon, Mr. Kath, the spare room still has many of your late wife’s clothes. They won’t fit your recent guest, probably need a good cleaning too. Should I find new homes for them?”

The orc blinked, realizing just how slow he could be. A room full of Eniece’s old things did not set the right tone for Grace, should she wander in there. He was only keeping them because he never used the space. He looked at Fern in appreciation and said, “Good thinking. Have a man-cart take them to the Woman’s Care charity at the wharf before you go shopping.”

“All of them sir?”

“Keep the ones you like, but yes.” He didn’t want to see them again. “I’ll sort through the other things later. I suppose …”

That sentence was interrupted by a knock at the door. Fern opened it and four burly labormen asked permission to bring in the two rugs, completely forgotten. Walking behind Fern he said, “Oh, good lads. Put the green one right there by the table and follow me with the red one.” With that he led them upstairs to unroll the plush pile next to the bed. That would feel good between the toes first thing in the morning. He gave the men ten groats and they grinned from ear-to-ear. At this time of day, those would be converted to ale within the hour.

_____________--------_____________

Shurran seemed to be very busy at the city office. They had to rebuild two arches under one of the wall-walks. When you talk about arches in Middle-earth, you talk to Nag Kath so Uncle Nag spent time with his young charge and visited the works office last week. He knew it by heart. Shurran was away after breakfast and did not expect to be back until six.

When he got home, Uncle Nag was sitting on the couch next to an exquisite eastern beauty dressed in their traditional gown showing hints of red and lavender underneath. The young man was flabbergasted. After all those long years of abstinence, the Elf was not only rolling in the hay with the pretty married lady, his lusts had driven him to the tender ministrations of a pleasure woman! Shurran would move up to the family home as soon as he could.

Nag Kath did not act ‘caught red-handed’. In fact, the silly Elf brightened, “Hello Shur. Come sit with us. This is Teurven.”

The astonishing doll face smiled and said, “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”

Shurran recovered his manners, “The pleasure is mine, Teurven.”

Uncle Nag kept the conversation flowing, “We were just talking about Khand, lovely place; Khand.”

Teurvan smiled again, “You are too kind, sir.”

Shurran had no idea what to do. Should he leave? Fern didn’t seem to be around so there was no dinner and Nag Kath’s new girlfriend wasn’t here either. What could one say to Uncle Nag’s amusements? 

His confusion grew worse. Nag Kath rose and so did the young woman. Both bowed to each other and the Elf said, “Well, I’m off. It was a pleasure meeting you, Teurvan.” With that he took his coat from the peg and sauntered into the dusk.

The woman sat back down and said, “Mr. Solvansh says you are a fine young man.” Her face formed the perfect smile.

Nag Kath chuckled all the way to Grace’s apartment. There was a candle burning upstairs. He knocked and waited until she walked down with coat in hand. They had dinner at the King’s Arrow Inn, the very first place he stayed in Dale. Not much had changed. 

After ordering, Grace looked at him closely and said, “You seem much more pleased than you should. Is that from expecting my charms?”

“In part.”

“Yes?”

“I did someone a favor.”

“That is a habit of yours.”

He grinned, “One of my favorites.”

They talked about small things over the meal. Grace explained what she liked to do at leisure, her friends, hearing the singers in the park during summer. As usual, he listened more than he spoke, watching the woman grow animated describing her favorite things. He drank her in. Graciel was taller than average but not as tall as his wives or Tal. She had a fuller-figure with some wave to her light brown hair. Grace had the same enigmatic smile, though. Was that what brought him to them?

As they finished, she said, “We are equal distance and not near either of our homes. I suppose we should be walking.”

“I have reserved a room here.”

Grace kept her smile but reported, “I fear this is not my week for your attentions, dear man.” 

He took her upstairs and sat her on the bed before taking off her shoes. Then he removed his and lay beside her. This was unusual in her experience. Her husband was a good lover, but not the first. Those men had needs and expected her to accommodate, no matter her cycle. Paying for a room at the Arrow without release would not have suited them. This Elf-fellow just snuggled and kissed her ear. Nag Kath had gathered most of her intimate secrets from clues. She was too experienced to be another of his sheltered flowers. And she enjoyed herself too much to have been coerced. 

When her breathing was quite still he asked, “What do you want for yourself, Grace?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I am comfortable now. I see my friends. I enjoy pleasurable company. I am twenty-four, so, no babe in the forest. At some point, I may want more constancy. It has all been so confusing since I married. Everyone told me this would be the best time of my life. I hope not.”

It was none of his business but that had never stopped him, “Is your husband causing you troubles?”

“Geordon? No. I cannot support him on my silver a month so he looks elsewhere. Never met his widow-lady. I would rather not. You’re awfully curious.”

“It is my nature. Would you think it patronizing if I offered to pay for your divorce?”

She rolled over to his face. He could tell in the candlelight that her eyes were wide open. “Yes, that would be, well, I am not for hire. Think you to bind me for your own needs?! I hardly know you.” He was a lover, not a fiancé.

“I thought that was what you would say. I would do this as one of my unknown favors. You wouldn’t owe me anything. It is just that I will journey south in the summer and this is the only chance I have to help.”

Grace said firmly, “I do not like being dependent. Men always think they can control me with silver. They cannot! It would make me no different than one of those Easterling pleasure girls! I think I should go home.”

Nag Kath wanted to differ but that conversation could wait. He held her close, “I hope you will stay with me tonight. I am really a nice fellow.”

Mollified, she rolled over so they were resting like spoons again. “Very well. But now you must tell me all the things you have so artfully avoided in your charming banter.”

He kissed her ear again and said, “It seems you have me dead to rights.” He spoke for a bell of his life, leaving out none of the blood and intrigue. Grace felt a chill in her bones. Had she not believed him or the stories about him because she did not want to? She knew he was important but had no idea he was so dangerous – an assassin if one removed the courtly trappings. She believed it this time. Now here he was; not taking her as any other man would or interested in her monthly silver. Graciel thought she knew all about men and their uncomplicated ways. But this creature was not a man, not by a long-shot.

She had not said a peep. Nag Kath added even more softly, “So you see, dear Graciel, I cannot expect any woman of man to wait me home from a market stall. I am not of this world. I am in service of powers I do not yet understand. So when I offered to free you, it is not for my pleasure, except that it would make me feel useful.”

Grace started to cry. She did not know why. Was it that all the things she thought herself over came due? She was not sad or distraught or ashamed. She felt release. She indulged in her tears and the warm man next to her did not interrupt.

Graciel slept soundly. He felt her breathing. The sun was well up before she yawned and stretched her arms, almost hitting his face with an elbow. He said, “You dreamed last night.”

“You were watching me?”

“I seldom sleep.”

“Oh.” What does one say to that?

This was the point where either she would decide to see him again or part forever. It could wait until she swished cold tea in her mouth to remove the night-taste. After adjusting all of the twists that come from sleeping fully-dressed, she sat on the bed with her back to him and was very still. They both knew she would have to speak next. He waited. “You frighten me, Nag Kath.”

“I frighten everyone.” 

No flowery attempt to dispel her conceptions, no smooth assurance of safety and comfort. He was not making this easy on purpose. Grace was a clever girl. His former wives and lovers, surprisingly few given the time, had joined him in the most human, earthly circumstance. Neither he nor they had another frame of reference. He had bared his soul with her so she would not be surprised, or trapped. She could put on her shoes and walk out the door. 

Grace rose and kissed him passionately. “Come, I will make you breakfast.” They bought fresh eggs on the way to her apartment.

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath got home about lunch time. Shurran was sitting on the couch in his towel robe and heavy socks eating yesterday’s bread. Unusually, he was upright rather than conforming to the cushions in his usual teenage slouch. Uncle Nag hung his coat on the peg by the door and walked in looking at the new carpet. The air still held subtle perfume.

“How are you doing, Shur?”

Shurran oh-so-slowly bloomed into his grandfather’s infamous grin. “Not bad, Nag. Not bad.” As all men but few women know, there is nothing in this world better than ‘not bad’. 

“Did Tuerven get the little envelope on the coat peg?”

“Aye, she put in her pocket this morning.” Shurran would not have known there was a minder waiting outside to escort her back to Khand-town. 

The Elf pulled a mug from the cold-tea jug. He brought it back to his usual chair and kicked his feet on the low table. Shur took a sip of his tea. They kept their own counsel for several minutes until the young man said, “You are a devious creature, Uncle Nag.”

“Dead to rights.”

Shurran smiled again, “Where did you … no, never mind.” He sipped more tea and stared at the stove.

Uncle Nag said, “No need to mention this to anyone I know.” Meaning anyone Shurran knew as well. Of course, this put the young, almost-heir to Dale into manhood. He might pursue this or use the experience to gently teach a blushing bride. At two silvers plus tip, this would not be part of the young Lord’s regular amusements. 

Shur decided he didn’t need to stay at the lonely family home as much as he thought last night. He stammered a little, “Nag, I mean, Nag, is that what drives men to such madness? … Like my grandfather?”

His spare grandfather took a sip and mused, “It can, but also money, or power, since money is power up to a point. Though it has not worked for me; folk want to leave their mark. Another generation is always needed. Making children must be enjoyable else men would not bother. Women can enjoy themselves too but that is not certain and they take the pain and risk. Always feel for women, Shurran.” He thought about Grace. “Yes, women take all the risk.” 

Shurran asked, “What is next?”

Nag Kath wasn’t sure if that was about females or a new subject. He took the latter, “I suppose we get ready for your cousin’s nuptials. What’s Brenen doing? I haven’t seen him since my own entanglements.”

Shurran thought of females and steered them back, “Entanglements, yes. None of those with Teurvan, I suppose. But you are seeing a married woman known to your family, your other family.”

Uncle Nag squinted as he tongued a piece of tea from between his teeth and said, “I don’t have the same problems as men. I can’t be embarrassed or taken to court or have my guild membership revoked. No, Shur, I don’t want to hurt the woman, because she, or any other, has to live in a world I only visit.” The Elf raised his eyebrows, “I like Grace and she seems to like me, knowing full well that I may leave for Mordor to destroy foul rings. And that, dear grandson, is why I protect innocent dancers.”

Shurran sighed. Eniecia would be back in Minas Tirith silently dreaming of the aide from Dol Amroth, or someone new by now. Thinking of that made him appreciate the Elf even more. Reversing usual coming-of-age homilies he said, “Let me know if you need anything, Nag.”  
  


_____________--------_____________

Late March is always important in Dale. Folk can expect one last miserable storm but the crocus flowers will push their way through the snow knowing if it defeats them, the daffodils will endure. Farmers won’t plant until the first of May but decent weather allows all the chores needed to prepare. Soldiers can march and ride and clean after playing cards in the barracks all winter. Businesses wash their windows.

Nag Kath kept seeing Grace. She stayed over some nights but lived in her apartment. They had dinner with Brenen and Nedille one evening. She went to see him practice swordplay every Thursday morning. It made them both amorous which sometimes hurt his concentration knowing they would go to her home immediately afterwards. Khellandar had done a little research of his own to discover the man was some sort of orphaned Elf and responsible for a great deal of sword-work, much of it for his own King Elessar. They still had not shared an ale but his training was now peer-to-peer. 

On the first of April, Grace rolled over to him and said, “Nag, did you mean what you said about helping me be shot of Geordon?” At the time it could have been a ploy to indenture her. It did not seem so now which made her reconsider. But to stay with Nag Kath meant to leave with Nag Kath. She hadn't once ventured past the lake.

“Sure. It could take time but I knew a few people in the city office.”

Her true fear showed, “Geordon will contest it. Unless he agrees, the union cannot be sundered. Northmen have their rights.” This was the main reason she had not pursued this by herself or taken Nag Kath up on the offer. If her husband stood to come into her modest inheritance and was not pressed by his widow-woman to marry, why would he disclaim either? Grace tried not to think of this or she would become melancholy. When the inheritance was paid, her monthly silver stopped.

But Grace was not used to having sorcerous shoes under her bed either. He mulled that over and said, “That should not be an obstacle.”

Oh dear! Would he murder Geordon or drive him mad? What she now knew of Nag Kath, he could probably rain lightning bolts down on the man’s house or plunge him into the River Running. Geordon was a swine, but Grace wanted a peaceful way out. Resolutely she decreed, “No, you must not rend him or turn him into a whisker-fish!”

“If I could make the arrangements without blood or lasting harm, will you sign the paper?”

Grace had to think about that. When she thought hard, her lips pursed and she made a terrible frown with her eyebrows. There was no confusing the expression. She looked at her Elf and said, “Yes, but it does not mean I will marry you or, or anything else. You must not ask that of me!” 

That netted half a grin, “Fair enough.”

The next day he presented her with the Bill of Separation, a document derived from the clans of Dale. It was designed to make life miserable in hopes of keeping child-bearing couples together if family ties were not enough. She wondered if Nag Kath had this prepared in advance. He didn’t say. She was in the store today so she signed it quickly and saw to a lady who was confused about which of two widths of linen was the better price.

_____________--------_____________

Gertrudath Kingspor was forty-three. Married young to the incorrigible Faeron Kingspor, they had no children, no debt and properties that produced regular income. She was a plump, matronly woman who enjoyed marital pleasures with her older husband and with Geordon Iömendel as Faeron’s ardor flagged. When a blood vessel in Kingspor’s brain burst, Geordon moved in, leaving his pretty but déclassé wife in their modest apartment.

Gertrudath knew she had the man by her favorite parts, but she was past her prime and jealous of Graciel or any other woman who caught his eye. She could marry again since the terms of her legacy kept her money away from future husbands. That was no accident. It did pay for her fellow’s fine clothes and three meals a day on top of stabling his horse and pocket money. And she liked Geordon for more than his attentions. Gertrudath knew nothing of the modest sum he might see if he could only stay married to Graciel, since he would not see a groat if he married his financially-invulnerable bundle of love. Grace knew little of this either. When the man emptied his dresser, she cried and got over it. The sword and the broken leaf pipe were his spares. 

Nag Kath knew even less but he knew people who knew people, starting with Brenen. Nag Kath had freed Brenen’s own mother from his abusive father when no one else would feed her. She was still hale and looked after his increasing stream of grandchildren. Brenen would understand, “Bren, I need some personal help.”

Coming from Nag this was rare. People went to him for help. He listened. “What do you know of Geordon Iömendel?”

“A bit. He is the kept-man for Mrs. Kingspor. She bought one of your apartments a few years back. He seems nice enough but not our sort.” Brenen put on his thinking face and asked, “Gracie’s husband?”

“Aye, lad. She is ready for better and I agreed to help.”

“Going to drag him through the River Running, are you?”

Nag Kath smiled, “I’d rather not. But Grace is sure he will never sign the Bill since he stands to inherit something her da put by.”

Brenen was much more practical than his step-da and was sure the well-meaning Elf was considering intricate schemes to trick the gigolo into sundering the union. The businessman asked, “What is the estate?”

“Four Florin or thereabouts.”

Brenen shook his head. Uncle Nag could be so thick about such things, “Bribe him. Cheaper than whisker-fish, I’ll wager.”

Nag Kath sat up straight. Brenen continued, “Take three of those troll Florins to the man and say, “Sign this and these are yours. Bring pen and ink with you.”

The next morning, Mrs. Kingspor took a man-cart to see her dear friend Heldiene Flourshal, now of the Landreth district. A few minutes later, a fellow knocked on the door and was admitted while the maid went to fetch the man of the house. 

Geordon Iömendel had heard his dearly beloved was seeing a tall, blonde soldier. He stood in the hallway and said, “What do you want?”

Nag Kath replied, “I am here to get your signature on Graciel’s separation papers.”

Iömendel was a fit, athletic man but the stranger was half a foot taller and looked capable of serious damage. A glance at the maid sent her quickly elsewhere. “And what keeps me from throwing you in the street?”

Nag Kath pulled a Florin from his vest pocket and slowly twisted it through his fingers as if considering it for the first time. He rolled it into his fist and said, “I think we can come to terms.”

They did, and quickly too. People imagine gold ringing like baby cymbals. It is really a dull clank. Nag Kath dropped two coins in the husband’s hand. If Iömendel tried anything untoward, there were all the remedies the dangerous changeling's conspirators talked him out of. Grace’s husband was a sharp man of commerce and saw the solemn Numenorean Kings as they should be; surrounded by knurled edges with tooth marks in their foreheads. The dissolution specifically waived claims to anything from his former wife. He took it to a desk in the room that had pen and ink. Mixing the latter with a splash of water, he signed the sheet with a flourish. Handing it to Nag Kath, their business was done without another word.

Nag Kath skipped the usual line at the city clerk and saw a man who knew he knew Rosscranith. “Hello, Soldalars. Hope you are the picture of health.”

“Couldn’t be better, Lord Kath. What brings you by my little dungeon?”

“I need a favor. A lady friend of mine has been ill-used by her husband and wants to end the union.”

Soldalars put on his spectacles, “Hmm, drafted by Uvaldas. He knows his business. This all seems in order. Wait here.” He was back in fifteen minutes with the official stamp of Dale, his own signature and that of the head magister, who also worked for Rosscranith. 

Nag Kath was waiting outside of Grace’s shop when she closed at six, not expecting him until tomorrow evening. She saw him sitting on the bench across the street and sashayed over. He really loved the way she moved. Grace sat next to him and he asked her, “How was your day?”

“I sold three bolts of the linen and two of wool, a good day. And yours?”

He seemed to struggle with other thoughts but managed, “Productive.”

They had an early supper and intimacy at her apartment. He was quiet and urgent, more needful than usual. She enjoyed herself but noticed the difference. “What is it Nag?”

He got out of bed and pulled a certified proof of separation out of his jacket. As she read it, she began to tremble. Grace looked at him in amazement tinged with terror at gaining choices she had forced from her mind. Her mouth would not work.

He filled the void, “You are free. Please come to me soon.” 

Nag Kath dressed, kissed her softly and walked home knowing he would never see her again.

_____________--------_____________

His was the misery of inevitability.

Tal was young love sundered by great force. Eniece was the loss of someone so perfect for him. He would have been constant to her as long as she lived. With Flor, he was in love with being in love, with the idea of her. But he was seldom home with the water and the witches. Losing the child was much harder at the counting.

Flor set the stage for Grace. This failed because it had to. In his own mind he offered everything a woman could want but there was too much more, frightening and powerful and not of this world. That must eventually apply to all else. Nag Kath was a friend for life. But close friends are bonded in shared experiences. He was sharing fewer of those. He was not the hapless changeling needing help tying shoes or riding a horse. No one took him lightly. 

That worked against everything he wanted in love. He cherished the intimacy of two equal people sharing the same life and goals. But he loved as a man at the speed of an Elf. Unless a woman wanted the power or position he brought, or exchanged some of her youth for his coin (much the same in his view), he could not be beloved. He could be wrong. Graciel might knock at his door tomorrow knowing nothing of his anguish. He would certainly meet women who were attracted to him and they might be different. But would he let them get close? Would he simply be waiting for the inevitable?

Before he got home, Nag Kath stopped at the stable for a look at Charlo. He rode whenever weather permitted. The horse was twitchy if he didn’t work-up a sweat fairly often. It had been a week so Nag Kath saddled the handsome steed and cantered out the Erebor road along the wheat stubble. 

The wind in his face felt good. Charlo did not talk about sorrow or loss or worry about what might have been. It was just the conversation Nag Kath needed. Two hours later they rode back to the stall. Unusually, neither the stableman nor his son were there so the Elf brushed the horse down himself and put his blanket back on.

He was late for dinner. Fern kept half a trout near the stove knowing Nag Kath showed when he liked and was never fussy about his food being served whenever that happened to be. As far as anyone needed to know, things were as they had been. 

While Nag Kath was sorting through his thoughts, the city of Dale was preparing for their King’s wedding. This was a grand event and unlike his investiture, wasn’t a funeral in disguise. What made it all the sweeter was he was marrying one of their own! No foreign Princess with an unpronounceable name; this lass. She was a commoner and one of seven children which boded well for a royal family.

Nag Kath held out hope he would see Grace but began preparing to travel south. There were a lot of goodbyes and this time he would say them properly. It felt different. After Eniece died, he always felt he would be back. He wasn’t sure now. If time was indeed stretching before him, he could not count on being local and dashing between safe cities of the west. Something was drawing him to the power of Orlo, perhaps as the Elves were pulled to Valinor. At some point he wanted to see what was keeping victims of the Witch-King restless. It was a big world.

Torrold and Gerda arrived the week before the wedding. This was the off-year for the Thainmoot but the country gentry would mostly be here and talk among themselves. Haldiera and Gerruld stayed home since their youngest wasn’t ready to ride. They saw Shurran last fall. He stayed with his Uncle and Aunt in the family home while they were here. 

Thain Durnaldar pulled-in two days later with Thain Gorhanna from Celduin Village joined en route. There was buzzing in Dwarvish enclaves as well. It would not do unless there was a dinner reliving the Dorwinion adventure with Torrold and Shurran deputizing for Reyald. The hairy horses proved to be good draft animals.

Since he and Shurran had come back from Buhr Austar in the fall, neither of them had seen either the King or dowager Queen. Nag Kath was used to that but Shurran was a bit surprised he had not been called for tea and cakes at least once. They had lunch a couple times with Rosscranith. That changed when Shurran was invited to the Groomsmen’s party two days before the ceremony. As a member of the entourage, they practiced their parts and had a casual dinner afterwards with about twenty five of the King’s friends. Bain and Shurran spent a while together as the event ended and Shurran was glad of it, but did not share what was said. 

Nag Kath had plans to go to the ceremony but would not stay long at the reception. His outlook had improved in the last two weeks. This would be a good chance to farewell acquaintances. His close personal friends would come soon enough.

All that went well. Everyone remembered their lines. No one fainted or drank too much before the readings. The congregation saw their liege wed the lovely Xondra and made for the reception room where a host of eats and drinks were waiting. Stonehelm did not attend. Neither did Frôr. Deputizing was Tombor. Nag Kath missed seeing him at the ceremony since he was near the front and short. At the reception they nearly bumped into each other. Nag Kath greeted him, “Good day old friend.”

“Good day, Lord Kath.” That was not promising. 

“I was about to get another ale.”

The Dwarf Lord finally smiled, “I’ll join you.”

They found a nook in the big room. Tombor had a swig and dealt with the inevitable foam on his mustache before saying, “Good to see you. Thank you for your assistance in the east … and north.”

“I seem to have been born for the job. It will be up to Durin’s folk to cook the next pig.”

“Muhaa! Then you are gone?”

“Back to the White City with my grandson.”

The great lord stared in his mug for a moment before confessing, “It is not your fault, you know. In this Fourth Age we should be past the darkness. I will tell you this, though; gold sickness lessened when that ring hit molten stone. So did energy. We must learn to draw inspiration from ourselves now.”

The changeling nodded slowly, “Your peoples’ courage will stand you in good stead, my friend. Stay close to Gimli. He has seen something of this world.”

“I will, young man. I will.” 

Laying back to let the first flush out the door he heard, “Hello, Nag Kath. That was a grand thing!”

Behind him were Devoran Carstors and his wife Lil. Lillith and Lilac were talking with friends. Lillith was with her husband. Lilac was not. No doubt that had been discussed thoroughly, but Nag Kath did not imagine it came as a surprise to anyone. Getting rid of that husband would be no harder than his brother.

Nag Kath bowed and shook their hands. Dev continued, “I enjoyed seeing Shurran in uniform. He is a man-grown.”

“Aye, Dev. I’ve enjoyed his company this last year. We’ll be going back to the White City within the month so his parents can have a look.”

Carstors smiled and said, “Good. I’ll have a word with him. His parents should visit me when they come this way. It is just off the trail if you know where to look.”

They parted as friends. Folk like the Carstors made the best of friends.

______________-------______________

Two partings would be harder. Master Sarnt Burry was in his sixties. His full head of white hair and beard made him look like a prophet of yore. They sat on the bench in front of Burr’s two-story house and looked at the last of the snow melt trickling down the cobblestones. Neither said much. Nag Kath thanked him for all the years. He might be back. Burry would know when he saw him. Burry would not know until the Elf was gone but the Royal Bank of Dale had a small retirement stipend ready. Nag Kath thought that since he was immortal, it was unfair to make people wait for a legacy. 

The hardest goodbye was Brenen. Brenen was his son in every meaningful way. He would never leave Dale. His health was not robust. Bren might be here but this was the leaving with no guarantee of return. They spoke long of things that did not need to be said, memories that would never die. They cried. 

Bard was in the office with Ros. If Bren was a son, Bard was a nephew. They talked old times too, thought it seemed more likely Bard would live to great age. Bren and Bard’s sons would take the business over this summer and let the old-timers enjoy their retirement. Bard did ask if only Shurran and he were leaving. Nag Kath was afraid so.

Other than a surprise gift for Burry and a draft for the Bank in Minas Tirith, Nag Kath left everything the way it was. Dale was still home.

They stopped two days in Esgaroth wishing Mrs. Borenne farewell. She was walking almost normally, making good on her promise to be on her feet again. There was sadness here too but Shurran and his family would probably be back in two years at the end of Reyald’s posting, even if they were only visiting. Post service was good enough that letters between Dale, Rohan and Gondor came almost monthly when the weather allowed. Shurran promised to be a better correspondent.


	5. Name to the Face

**_Chapter 5_ **

**_Name to the Face_ **

The Old Forest Road was not made for forty years of peace. Bridges built since the war allowed merchant trains, some five or six wagons long, but they trundled at a snail’s pace in the best of times through the encroaching roots. When teamsters met their like coming from the other direction, they would often shout at each other like man-carters claiming the right of way until one or the other would hitch a horse to the back of a wagon. 

On horseback, Nag Kath and Shurran could usually slip through the forest but they never moved faster than a canter. Large campsites had been cleared in grudging trees to get men and beasts off the road at night. The two travelers usually stayed at those to hear stories of the path ahead. When they finally broke clear of the forest, the traffic continued either west or south and they turned north to Rosghobel to stay at the same site they had on the way up.

Waiting for wizards gives one spare time. Shurran gently asked more about his Khandian visitor. Nag Kath didn’t mind. Shur was a grown man and ought to know how the world of men worked, to the extent the Elf knew. Nag Kath had not pressed on details but was sure the young man learned more than a roll in the hay. 

Unavoidably, it brought up Graciel. The Elf was honest about that too, though it hurt. “I wanted her to come with me but realized that was selfish, shades of Tal. I love women, everything about them. But she is a girl of Dale and I could not tear her away from everyone she knows and loves to follow me to the back of beyond chasing demons. The perfect man lives within a mile of her and they will find each other.” Nag Kath didn’t mention that he asked Bart of Grace’s childhood remembrance to take her a few things she left at his house. It worked for Burry’s lad!

Shurran noticed differences in the Elf. In town and with people he was friendly and polite, sometimes he seemed shy. The wild brought out something else. Nothing escaped him. He never dropped anything, he moved without breaking sticks, he sometimes stopped dead still for a few moments listening to things no one else could hear. Shur didn’t know that was as much orcish as Elvish. 

After three days of talking about women, both of them needed activity. Nag Kath said, “I am going into the forest to seek Radagast. I have only a general direction and I expect the trees will close around me to hide his home. It will be dangerous. You can stay or come.”

“What else have I got to do?”

“We’ll need to walk the horses.”

The Elf remembered the trip at about four hours with the brown wizard leading the way. After eight hours they were still tramping through vines and ferns after several wrong turns and dead-ends. As the sun got low, Nag Kath felt something to his right and made for it, coming to the clearing around the ramshackle house.

It was neither better nor worse for wear. Shurran, a consulting engineer, wondered just as his grand-da had how the place did not collapse in a cloud of dust. Nag Kath gave Shurran the reins and walked up the groaning porch steps for a look. The door was ajar. He poked his head in and saw nothing different. His little bird pictures were still in mismatched frames by the small writing desk. No one was home. He walked back to the horses and the travelers made a fireless camp at the edge of the clearing. Shurran wanted to talk about women again but when he finally slept, he was out like a light.

The young man did not wake until the sun was already up. After a long yawn and stretch he saw his grandfather adding sticks to a small fire for porridge and tea. Shurran laced his boots and fetched water for the pot. It wasn’t until after breakfast that Nag Kath felt the presence.

No matter which way you sat, Radagast came from behind you. The Elf turned over his shoulder and called, “Hello, old friend. You are just in time for tea.”

The old wizard shuffled closer and said, “Good.” Looking at the Northman he asked, “Who are you?”

“I am Shurran Conath, sir.” He had been coached that wizards are not lords and like to keep things informal.”

Nag Kath added, “Radagast, this is my grandson Shurran. Shur, this is Radagast.”

The tea was strong and tepid but Shurran got a tin cup for the wizard who sat on a log and put his staff by his feet. Taking a long slurp he said, “Ah, I don’t get many visitors. You may have been the last. How long has that been?”

“Almost thirteen years.” 

“Are you still drawing birds?”

“Not lately. I have been involved in intrigues, some with sorcery.”

The wizard finished the little cup and said, “Well, I suppose you are here for counsel.”

“That and some tidings in exchange.”

“Then let us go inside. Young man, you can just leave the horses where they are. They will not stray.” Shurran piled the saddles and tack under the porch eaves and both travelers brought their bags into the house. If the young Northman’s eyes were agog at the outside, the interior made him sure the home was but a breath of wind from crumpling. Radagast sank in the same chair Nag Kath was sure would splinter with one more sitting all those years ago. The home, and everything in it, was not held together by pegs and nails.

The wizard filled a small pipe lying on the side table with leaf and made sure it was perfect before dragging a match across the floor for his first puff. Like Gandalf, that was done in complete silence. It smelled like Shire weed to the Elf, knowing that these wizards had their sources. As the smoke cleared Radagast said to Shurran, “You look like the bowman.”

“Great great grandfather, on the other side. Nag is a step-grand-da.”

The wizard considered that longer than idle chat and then said to the Elf, “Tell me of your quest, young fellow.”

Nag Kath had thought his presentation through several ways. Gandalf would stay where he was, hardly eating or sleeping until his task was complete. When the Elf was last here, Radagast seldom spent more than two hours at a time with him before wandering off into the forest on some errand. Sometimes Nag Kath tagged along but usually he sat and waited. He thought he would start with his easiest conundrum.

Fetching the little book from his pack, he handed it to the wizard opened to the part in Quenya saying, “These are Elvish healing spells from Lord Elrond. I cannot determine how they draw the power and I cannot understand the older parts at all. I was hoping you might know.

He could just ask Arwen when he got to Minas Tirith. She might even have the finished copy. But she had known he was a healer for twelve years and never volunteered a word of advice. This could be proprietary knowledge. He did not think he would even mention her da’s notes when he got there.

Radagast read the entire book and the Quenya twice. It took half a bell and Nag Kath was impressed by Shurran’s precocious patience. Big with a beard, it was easy to forget he was not yet twenty. The wizard closed the volume and put it in his lap saying, “Quenya is never still. Sometimes I think the Elves made their own versions so they didn’t have to understand each other. That did not end well. This is a newer version.

“Ah … the Athae Áma; it tells of a soothing spell to aid confusion after injury, else the patient succumbs for losing his vigor. Elrond is very good at that." 

They explored that for a while. It seemed like what the Elf-Lord may have done for Frodo. The wizard thumbed through the pages with a combination of humming and muttering. Several times he stopped and described methods for reducing pain or closing wounds. "Now here in the back is a story that when Elves and men had children, sometimes the two bloodlines would fight for dominance and harm the person.”

Shurran asked, “Then this is how to cure the malady?”

“I fear not. It was always deadly.”

Nag Kath tried to remember his lessons, “I am stumbling here, but I thought there were only one or two unions between Elves and men.”

“Among the high-born, yes. Not all marriages were of noble birth. Still there were not very many babes born to these couples, just because of the difference in their races. If they had less than half Elf blood, the Elf part gained strength and bring the poor soul to a standstill … hmmmm, eyelashes might flutter, blue lips, a nasty infirmity!”

Nag Kath had a personal stake in this, “Were there children born to women by male Elves?”

“I only knew of three half-Elven and they were all borne of Elf maids. But mind; the most famous of those were Elrond’s own line so I can see his interest. He and his brother had enough Elf to be given the choice. His father was a man and was created an Elf so there were ways around that.” The brown wizard looked at Shur, then Nag Kath, “He is a star now. That required the Valar’s intercession.” Radagast got to the last page and mumbled, “These notes just end so he must not have made progress.”

Nag Kath prodded, “And the power summoning …?”

“Oh, different than us. I think they pull from air but the incantations are much more important. We use feel. You know that. You need to say the ones written here correctly and trace the lines of power. You were air, like Saruman?”

“You said water.”

“Oh yes. None of the wizards were of water. I do not think a staff would help you with water ... too dense.”

Shurran was enthralled. With allies Uncle Nag was honest to a fault, mostly, but he did not say much about magic. Now here he was talking with a creature that might be twenty thousand years old like farmers discussing weather. The Elf wasn't forty.

Nag Kath asked, “Did Gandalf keep the piece of Saruman’s staff?”

“That or he destroyed it. Goodness, did you ever light that up?! That was more because of Saruman than his spells. Poor Curumo. What a waste. We wizards were not made powerful, not meant to get above ourselves.” He looked closely at the Elf and said more sternly, “I hope you have been behaving.”

All he got for his admonition was a Nag-Kath grin. 

That concluded the session for the day. The wizard told them to stay where they were as he had a few things to attend in the northeast. Taking his staff he ambled out the door and was gone in far less time than it should take an old man to cover ground.

Shurran stretched and walked around the home. Like Tom Bombadil’s, it seemed larger inside than could be told outside. He looked at the three bird pictures and then the confusion of bowls, herbs and vials scattered about a room split down the middle by a huge tree. Sunlight showed through large cracks in the ceiling and walls but they still blocked the breeze. Nag Kath went to the fireplace and checked the wood stocks. He knew that if there was housework to be done, he had better do it. The Elf also went through the food stores expecting them to be bleak. They were; good thing for the Lembas.

The wizard returned past midnight and lay on his bed fully dressed. Nag Kath watched him and wondered why wizards were created as old men needing food and sleep? A clue was when Radagast said only this morning that they were not meant to be powerful, perhaps not to take power for themselves as Saruman proved he could not resist. His clothes could be as old as him with few weavers of robes plying the Old Forest Road.

Nag Kath made porridge for all with tea and Lembas crumbles added for sustenance. Shurran looked to the horses. They were content but would eat through the grass in the little clearing before long. He gave them a few handfuls of oats to show all was well in the world. Radagast wandered over for breakfast when it was ready and the Elf started the second of the three unknowns. “Old friend, I told you of residual sorcery. Three years past I journeyed to the east, starting in Rhûn then Khand and finally Mordor.”

That got the old wizard’s attention, and quickly. He sat on the edge of his chair and left the spoon in his mush.

Nag Kath continued, “I was following tales of a fell lord on the west side of the Nûrnen. He had a ring of power, Radagast, a Dwarf ring.”

The wizard considered that and asked, “Do you know which one?”

“I could not read the markings, but I did sketch them later.” He handed the wizard the scrap from his satchel.

“Humph, don’t know it. The great Elf smith Celebrimbor made those and paid dearly.”

Nag Kath revived the thread; “I fomented a terrible war among the rulers around the lake and the tyrant was defeated. The ring I threw into the last of Orodruin as I left. It was of less moment than I thought.”

Radagast shook his head and muttered, “Mor … dor. A black and terrible place.”

“It was, but now rain falls. Rivers bring clean water to all sides of the sea and people grow enough to eat. There are trees, Radagast, trees, all equally tall as if they had waited an age to sprout on the same day. Did you or the Ents have a hand in that?”

The wizard kept shaking his head and admitted, “Nay, it was not me, nor the Ents neither. The tree-shepherds never found their wives and are too thin to mind their northern flocks.” Radagast became more animated having hit on one of his own concerns, “There will be trouble, mind. The trees have no guidance. They are like men,” looking to Shurran, “present company excepted, men without the Elves to guide them. I cannot see accommodation between the two!”

Nag Kath calmed him, “There, there, old friend. Even men of Mordor will listen to reason. Who can speak to the trees?”

The wizard kept shaking his head until finally saying, “I do not know. Do you speak treeish?”

“Not a word. My Black Speech and wargish will win me no favor there.”

Radagast permitted himself the smallest smile, “So be it. But talk to Treebeard. You know him from Orthanc.”

It was Nag Kath’s time to doubt, “We never met. Gandalf kept me away from them, too close to my Uruk past, I suppose. I saw them from the balcony when they came to repair the grounds. Do they speak Sindarin?”

“He does. I cannot say about the rest. Try Fangorn.”

_____________--------_____________

The exchange seemed to take a lot from the wizard. Nag Kath knew Gandalf could do without sleep and food for long periods but must eventually restore himself. Radagast clutched his staff before rising unsteadily and saying he needed to tend things in the forest. No one asked why or when he would return.

Why was his own business but when was two days later. The two travelers found things to do in the meantime. Nag Kath studied the spells but got no results. It might be his orcish accent. He had learned the language by reading, not listening. The Silvans in the Woodland Realm and the Elf-keepers understood him but his was not the pure voice made to utter those incantations with authority. Elrond might have taken for granted what he alone knew.

Shurran managed a campfire stew of greens and oats and a root that looked a cousin to a rutabaga. They left the mushrooms alone. Before it was ready to serve, Radagast creaked up the stairs and seemed refreshed. Not for the first time the Elf wondered if he gained strength from the forest rather than the other way around. The brown one walked to the stove and smelled deeply, inhaling real cooking for the first time in who knew how long. At dinner, Nag Kath returned to the subject of evil, in a roundabout way, “Radagast, in my trip I passed the Dead Marshes.”

“Wretched place. Whatever took you there?”

“Just the shortcut between Gondor and Dorwinion. Most folk stay west and use the Old Forest Road, even still.” Very carefully he asked, “Do you know what keeps them preserved?”

The question did not trouble the wizard, “I am told they are not bodies, only the spirit of bodies.”

The Elf thought that was as good an opening as he would get, “And yet they remain, have they found their ways to the Halls of Mandos?”

“I do not know. But some part of them remains, else their appearance is just a memory for those who happen along that sorry path. You will learn; if you have not already, that it takes energy to maintain such an illusion.”

“Tell me then, Radagast, whose energy is used?”

“I do not know.” With that, the wizard sank further into his chair and tried to sleep but just then, rain started coming down hard. Radagast jerked awake and looked at a corner of his home where water was pouring in through one of the larger cracks. He walked over and fussed for a moment trying to remember a spell, finally waving his hand at the offending leak. It didn't cover the hole but the water seemed to know to run down the side of the wall and out another hole in the floor. Then he collapsed in his chair, dead to the world.

Nag Kath thought himself a poor guest. Here he had imposed on the shy old bird-friend, interrogating him with the gleanings of a world best forgotten. He lost himself in reproach until he saw Shurran’s face freeze. Following the Northman’s eyes, Radagast’s hands were almost melding into the arm of his chair. Come to that; the chair was not flimsy at all. It was growing, part of the network of vines and roots that snaked throughout the rooms, carefully trained over centuries with a nudge here and a pull there to just his shape.

The two visitors looked at each other and rose to take the conversation outside under a leaking eave. Shurran started, “Did you see it?”

“Aye.”

“You said he was a creature of the wild. Is he becoming one with it?”

“I think so, Shur. Gandalf sailed away. Saruman molders here. I think there were other wizards or Maiar in their ranks but who knows how they were to be recalled? Do you remember me speaking of the Wild Huntsman?” Shur nodded. “It would be the worst sort of Ale-house yarn. But it is true and that fellow may still be stalking the graveyards of those just as dead as in the marshes.”

“What about Radagast?” Can he go home?”

“I think he is becoming his home. Let us leave that unless he asks. It is a subtle thing and, methinks, still some time off.”

The two collected more sticks from the pieces stacked by the chimney and went back inside.

_____________--------_____________

The wizard slept soundly the whole night, only twitching or smacking his lips for motion. He did snore quite loudly at times. In the morning, the Elf apologized, “Old friend, thus far I have come unbidden and not asked how I can help you. Please, tell me what I can do.”

Shurran had already given him tea. He took a long pull and rose, looking around the room before saying, “I do not need anything, Nag Kath. But I do appreciate that you are not taking this new world as your due. Even as cleanly as Sauron and his ilk were excised, you are right to beat the hustings for what may have been left behind in haste.”

He took another long pull and said, “But now you should tell me the real reason you are here.”

The Elf smiled, “I should not flatter myself that I yet have tact. Very well, I did not gallop off to Mordor in search of lordly campfire stories. I was drawn there by powerful and yet benevolent sorcery far beyond my ken.” The story of Orlo took nearly a bell. Radagast drank in every word. Shurran had not heard this version with gardens that weren’t and walls long crumbled. Nag Kath pulled the sheaf of papers with the enigmatic Orlo grinning on the top.

Radagast did as everyone else had; looking intently, seeing something familiar, only to talk himself out of recognition. Nag Kath watched every line on his face. When the wizard looked back to him and shook his head, the Elf said, “I think that is only his appearance to me.”

The wizard said firmly, “I see a man of wisdom and mirth, in their measure. That is only what you remembered. There may be even more you did not consider at the time. I would not be surprised if he had many names.”

“That thought will not leave me. I am certain to return. The spirit of those people kept them from fighting, dying and possibly winning at the Pelennor. They are brave, so it was not cowardice that kept them from the field.”

Radagast smiled, “You have time. Go forth. Do as Gandalf counseled. You will discover your answers.”

The wizard started sorting through the other sheets, perhaps looking for more birds. Then he stopped with a look of abject horror. Radagast jerked his face up at Nag Kath, back at the picture and to the Elf again. In barely more than a whisper, “Where did you see this?”

It was the cruel Elf. Nag Kath answered, “I saw him in Galadriel’s mirror a few years ago. The Elf-keeper told me it was still in Caras Galadhon when I visited. I saw several faces. This was the last and strongest. Do you know him?”

“Oh, by Eru himself, I do indeed. This is not your usual work, Nag Kath.”

“The image was unclear, as were the others. Whether they were past or future I can not say.”

Radagast shook his head yet again, “This is the face of Melkor, lo, I have not imagined it this way since before time.”

“I know not of him, worried sir.”

“You know him as Morgoth.”

Dinner that night had no idle chat. Radagast found all of his energy and asked every possible question about the cold, handsome Elf of the sketch. The wizard was troubled. It might be nothing; a floating image no worse than one of the forsaken thousands staring to the sky in the Dead Marshes. If the original and darkest of lords had been consigned to the void, might there not be residual enough to visit magic mirrors?

The wizard wracked his brain; why would he come to Nag Kath, Nag Kath his last living Uruk-hai?! Was Arwen right? Was the changeling the unwitting servant of one crawling back to the hell he created? Did Radagast have the strength to kill the changeling now and snuff the risk?

He decided he did have the strength and would not. As he had told himself a thousand times, a dark lord could never have drawn those tiny birds.


	6. Queen Nephtat

**_Chapter 6_ **

**_Queen Nephtat_ **

Rohan was an easy ride. The weather was fair most of the way and the road not sodden with snow-melt from the Misty Mountains. Making Edoras, they presented themselves at the Meduseld just after lunchtime as a courtesy to the Lord King and Queen. The chamberlain said their Highnesses would be informed. 

Things were less formal at Dornlas’. Sitting on his stoop until Dornlas and Annlie returned from a lessee’s, large hugs were exchanged with gossip to follow, half-pints too! And wonder of wonders, there was a true restaurant. The royal wedding made some in Edoras think perhaps they deserved amenities like other great capitals of the west. The food was fair but all sang its praises hoping they would survive.

As the heir to the heir to the Throne of Dale, the changeling supposed Shurran would be received even if there was no interest in Uncle Nag. He was wrong. No attendant came with instructions to attend at court. Annlie said Elfwine and Tilli were in Emyn Arnen visiting Faramir and Éowyn so youth would not be served either. Dornlas still heard wargs on evenings when the wind was just right but they were well away from the capital. 

With so much to talk about, Nag Kath and Shurran imposed for two nights and took their leave at dawn for the familiar ride to the White City. After seeing women for the first time since Dale, Shurran wanted to talk about them much of the way down. Nag Kath indulged him, though he did not consider himself wise on the subject, experienced, yes, but not wise.

They made good time and reached the gates at dusk on the sixth day. Both rode as far as Nag Kath’s house and then Shurran went up to the sixth gate. The Elf let him go home alone with the remembrance of old Conath. They would know from letters but the young man was there. 

Turnlie was out so Nag Kath rummaged through his pack for the extra key and let himself in after dropping Charlo at the stable. Now Minas Tirith did have restaurants and they were open late so he walked to the prow for a pint and pie at Vildeth’s Dragon. This was his neighborhood but people looked at him as an outsider, in those clothes, probably someone eating above their station from the second-level. No matter. He collected two buckets of water at the fountain three doors from his house and took them inside to clean away the grime.

After a full dinner, Nag Kath needed no breakfast before running errands. First was down to Turnlie’s mother’s to let her know he was back. She was shopping but her ma said she would tell her. Tim and Marie were in Osgiliath for an artists’ exhibition that should last another two days. The lads at the shop would let them know as well. 

From there he loped up to the sixth to see Reyald and Ardatha. Loral came to the door and let him in saying, “Oh my, Mr. Kath! The last time you came home, your hair was so short.”

A year was longer than he had ever let it grow and it reached well past his shoulders, longer than most men wore theirs in Minas Tirith. The locks were still well under Elvish length but long enough to actually lay flat. Eniecia rounded the corner and accepted a chaste hug and kiss on the cheek. Shurran waved from the hall but raiding the pantry was more important than his road partner. Finally, both Reyald and Ardatha came from the bedroom and greeted him warmly. The Ambassador stayed home knowing Uncle Nag would be there well before lunch. Second breakfast was served.

They talked about Buhr Austar and the wedding, all the things Shurran had already told them. He hadn’t mentioned Graciel, and probably no related topics either. There was also no talk of handsome aides at allied embassies though Eniecia seemed cheerful and talkative. She continued to dance. Nag Kath knew how to not say much without saying much so he mostly smiled and agreed with everyone. Shurran met the brown wizard, perhaps the first man to see him since Orthanc. It was already understood that Melkor had to stay between Shur and Uncle Nag.

On his way out he gave the sixth-gate guard a note telling the King he was back if the Lord needed his service. He also stopped by the bank and presented the draft from Dale for about half of his savings there and checked his accounts. Flor’s annuity still paid monthly.

“Hello Mr. Kath. Please come in.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tippi.”

Tal was reading to Ecc in the main room so right there for handshakes and hugs. She was wearing her half-spectacles and didn’t hustle them into a pocket like most women would with unannounced guests. They looked just the same as when he left a year before. Mrs. Tippi was off for fresh tea in an instant and Nag Kath took his usual chair. Ectilliad said, “Nice to see you, old friend! Is King Bain hitched good and proper?”

“Aye Ecc. Lovely girl. It seems they have been sweet on each other for quite a while. She grew up friends with Brenen’s girls.”

Tal looked at his hair. She knew he was an Elf but with his mannish dress to go with that enthusiastic grin, somehow he still belonged to her world. It was men and women who loved him and gave him purpose. Very well, let him have Elf hair. She would keep his smile always. Putting that aside she asked, “How was the trip with Shurran?”

“It was good. I must not think of him as a lad anymore. He is a big Northman now and we have become fast friends. Being back in Dale made me realize how much he looks like King Brand, much more than the other two grandsons. Did Ardatha tell you about her father-in-law?”

“She did. It sounded like he lived a fine life and went out laughing.”

Ecc chimed in, “Getting to know Reyald tells me the old Thain was the best of fathers.”

Nag Kath showed the valued grin and said, “He was. You would like Torrold too. He will be the best of Thains. And speaking of the best of fathers, how are your youngsters?”

Tal took that answer, “Both are fine. I think Tilla’s young man is working-up his nerve to propose. His prospects in his father’s business took a turn for the better. Ecth keeps that side very quiet.” Nag Kath thought of the Khandian enchantress. From his face you couldn’t tell which smile he was smiling.

Of course, dinner must be had within the week and of course, he would come to Tal and Ardatha’s weekly tea. Of course.

Turnlie was at the house by the time he returned, singing and arranging all of the foods she bought. Fresh items were purchased every day but a kitchen needed spices and herbs and grains; items that kept well but not as long as her master was often gone. She had a man-cart bring the bags up from the market along with demi-casks of wine and ale.

“Oh hello, Mr. Kath. How were the weddings?”

“They were grand, Turnlie. I hope you are doing well.”

“Right as rain, sir. I saw you unpacked. Is there anything you need?”

“Not now. I need more art supplies but I have to do that myself.”

His stout domestic said, “Very good. Oh, I hear Mr. Mülto is poorly. Mrs. Sylveth said he had a chest complaint. I thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you for that. I will visit after lunch. I am at leisure for the time being. Is there anything you need, dear woman?”

Turnlie cackled, “A handsome husband who can cook. Oh, the crack in this stove is getting worse. It might be time for a bigger one that can handle your entertaining.”

“I had no idea. Please, attend that. There is money in the cup over the towel cabinet.”

“Dear Sylveth.”

“Oh my. It is good you are back. Not so terribly long this time.”

The Elf smiled, “Just two weddings and a funeral. How have you been?”

“I am my usual self.” The woman was now in her seventies and moved around quite well. She was dowdy when they met but she did not get much dowdier, and there was always that lovely smile. “Broughter has been poorly.”

“That is my main reason for coming so soon. What ails him?”

“It is his chest. He can’t shake a lingering …”

From the back room came, “Nag Kath? Is that you?”

“Aye Broughter. You aren’t rid of me yet.”

The landlord came down the hall with a cough and shook hands. Two years younger than Sylveth, he could be ten years older. The man coughed again and said, “Sorry, got the lung fiehl in the spring.”

The Elf and business partner said, “I can probably do something for that.”

Broughter laugh/coughed saying, “What, conjuring and lighting me up like one of your Syndolan rockets?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose we should.” He looked at his worried wife and added, “Never gone in much for such things. But herbs and steam haven’t helped. What do I need to do?”

Nag Kath said, “Take off your shirt and let’s have a look.”

Mülto did and the Elf had him sit on a stool so he could listen to his chest and back. Nag Kath took the pulses and signs. Then he placed the palms of his hands on Broughter’s back and his hands slowly turned a soft, light silver. His patient wheezed and hawked but held his position as best he could. A minute later, the physician eased the spell and helped himself to cold tea from the kitchen jug, getting one for Mülto at the same time.

He sat down in the chair next to his patient and said, “It is a cold gone bad that settled in both lungs. We used to see that a lot on the water-path. I will need to do that once a week for three or four more weeks. You should grow stronger but probably will not have the wind you used to.”

“I already didn’t have the wind I used to.”

“Then you won’t miss it. But you must take more exercise. A brisk walk every day, a block or two to start and up to a mile or more. Go up and down your stairs in poor weather.”

All Broughter was going to do for a few hours was cough and spit so Nag Kath kissed Sylveth on the forehead and gave her some herbs for brew that she was to force down her stubborn husband with no excuses.

It was Thursday tea. Nag Kath walked up a level to find Tal and Ardatha already at their usual table. He kissed them both and sat where he always did. A waiter brought his in a big mug rather than the little cups popular with ladies this season. Two women walked over to them. One was obviously an old friend and the other was Mrs. Jhourden from Dol Amroth up visiting her daughter and son-in-law for the summer. Nag Kath stood and was introduced to faint recognition. 

Tal’s table could have as many as eight or just two, usually these two. The rest of the women in the room tried not to stare at the tall, handsome stranger who seemed to know both of them well. His name was whispered when the two women rejoined their parties and the rest of their afternoons were probably spent discussing him.

As Nag Kath was sitting down again Tal asked, “So, what really happened in the north?”

Ardatha would have told her the basics but not anything diplomatic. She was Thain-kin and Tal knew that. Nag Kath was not leaking any state secrets either by saying, “Shurran and I saw Radagast again. Seeing someone that old, like Tom Bombadil, reminds me how much history comes before us.” He looked at Ardatha and said, “Your son did you proud, daughter. He listened and learned.”

Ardatha accepted the compliment saying, “He is like you, that way.”

They got a half-grin from their favorite Elf as he elaborated, “Both of us kept waiting for the old wizard’s house to fall around our ears. There is no earthly reason for it to stand so it is not earth that keeps it. We talked about healing and my trip to Mordor. I had thought he or the Shepherds of the Forest might have helped in restoring the greenery but it seems to be growing on its own. That is encouraging. Shur probably told you about meeting your nephew Devoran Carstors.”

“He did. We are under strict orders to visit his family on our way home. I always got the impression he wanted privacy and now I understand why.”

Tal hadn’t heard any of this which got her twenty minutes of Nag Kath and Ardatha explaining the succession and folk walking on eggshells around Brand. Tal had no idea and Ardatha did not fully understand the court intrigues until Shurran returned. She and Reyald simply knew that growing-up in the country was safer for their son, just as Dev’s father thought for him. Shurran Conath was still second in line to the throne. Since Carstors would certainly abdicate, Shur was actually next.

Ardatha cracked open the jar, “Shur said you met the Carstors daughters as well, one with them and the other in Dale?”

Nag Kath wasn’t sure he wanted to see where this led but these were two of his best friends. The children of men did not shoulder their troubles alone. He said gently, “Yes, two girls. That is why so much falls to the men in the family. I was much in the company of Lilac’s friend in Dale.”

In all the world of eyebrow-raising, no one alive could top Talereth Toroldinar. There might be contenders now that it was white instead of dark red but the arch was still perfection. Nag Kath looked at both women and said, “I fell in love again.” He got a far-off look in his eye before adding, “Tal, she reminded me very much of you.”

Neither woman had anything on the tip of her tongue for that little gem. They could feel his pain. Was that what kept him from being a real Elf? His long hair did not hide it. Other than the Queen, known only formally, they knew no other Eldar. Elves were said to display no emotion in the company of mortals. 

Tal started, “Well I hope you are over that because you simply must meet Mrs. Pelanties, tragically widowed and now in Minas Tirith from Pelargir ...” A sentence into her matchmaking pitch she thought to wait a while. She would ask about the mystery woman when they were alone. 

Nag Kath walked Ardatha home. Along the way she said, “Thank you for taking such good care of my son. He is grown now but always my boy. He seems much more mature with just another year of seasoning. And thank you for being there for the Thain. Having Shur must have been a help to Torrold. Tor is a good man.”

Her step-da agreed, “He is, dear daughter. Torrold and Shurran spent quite a bit of time together at the lodge. He will never forget his roots run deep.”

Ardatha became more practical, “He is also better dressed.”

He chuckled, “I couldn’t have the heir to the heir walking about like a fish-monger. He stayed with me, rather than your home alone. I have all those other grandkids in the commercial heart of the city. Bren and Bard are retiring this year and turning the business over to them.”

Leaving the restaurant, Nag Kath did a pivot of his own, “Ardatha, what plans for you and Reyald after the posting?”

She took another twenty paces before answering, “We are of many minds about that. It is the same problem you have; family is in Dale but no future. Reyald is a vibrant, heroic man, a born leader. So is his beloved brother. If the King agrees, perhaps another five-year posting will give us some of both. And like you, we will visit because that is where we are from. I am glad about granna. We will certainly travel home at the end of this term, probably to return here whether Reyald is still Ambassador or not.”

They passed through the sixth gate and she continued, “We like it here. Eniecia loves it here.”

“Is she over her little, uh …?”

“That one.”

He smiled, “Ah, the joys of youth!”

“You were as good as your word and left for a year.”

“Not for that. I had business in Dale and also along the way, especially along the way.”

The pair arrived at the residence with Loral greeting them and offering him something to drink. Nag Kath declined but Reyald came upstairs only a few minutes later so ale was inevitable. The three of them sat in the main room with both children out. Ardatha said to Reyald, “I told him about coming back after visiting home again.”

Reyald took a satisfying pull of the local tan and sucked the foam from his moustache before asking, “What do you think, Nag? Oh, and before I forget, thank you for outfitting our first-born son.”

Nag Kath took a long sip himself and responded, “All he had to fit from your home were socks. I was telling Ardatha he needed Lordly togs. They came in handy. As to staying; yes, but you need something to do, whether you return for a second term or privately. I brought a hundred Florin down with me. I would like to give it to you as part of my property business.”

They both looked at each other in an instant and she said, somewhat affronted, “That is not necessary, Nag. We are managing quite well.”

Reyald also looked concerned, but not so much that he couldn’t keep listening. Nag Kath had another sip and took control, “Nonsense! I’m your da and I take care of my own. I gave Bren and Bard something like four hundred so you are the poor relations.”

Nag Kath told them about his interests here and in Osgiliath. They had no idea. They knew he came into a stake with the troll hoard but nothing like this. And then he told them he still had another hundred in Dale. Digging deeper her step-da said to Reyald, “Broughtur Mülto runs things here and he is ready to retire. My thought would be to ease you in as a gentleman shareholder, feathering the nest for a retirement of travel and leisure. My part stays quiet so I can slay dragons.”

Reyald grinned and asked, “There is no way my wife can talk you out of that?”

She said more earnestly, “Yes! Nag, this is unseemly. We have always earned our way.”

Nag Kath reached over and held her hands in both of his. She got his Elf-Lord face. “Reyald’s da just went to his ancestors. Your step-da before that. Your blood father died forty years ago. You have their legacies but you will not outlive me. Can it not be my turn to give you what I have created in gratitude for being such a wonderful daughter?”

Oh dear! He was right! Eniece had refused her later settlement to maintain her freedom, but the first payment for Ardatha’s birth was spent in giving her advantages she never took for granted. Torrold inherited the Thainhold. Ardatha and Rey had about ten Florin banked with all expenses here paid by the crown. Steady rents would make things more certain.

There was no challenging his Elf-Lord demeanor. “Yes, da. We will accept it gratefully.” Reyald relaxed. He liked his job and would be glad of a second appointment, but if King Bain was grooming a man of his own generation, Reyald could retire without worry. 

His spare father-in-law said, “Broughter has been ill with the fiehl. When he is on his feet, I will sound him out on how much work he still wants to do. He has his own property and runs mine. Since this is new money, it does not reduce his share and I think he would be glad of a reliable partner. Let us keep this under our hats, eh?”

As their benefactor strolled home, they sat next to each other without saying anything. Mostly it was in shock that the reluctant war hero and artist had another side to him. They wondered how much else he had never mentioned.

The next morning, never too early, Nag Kath got a surprise visit in the form of Talereth. Turnlie was out getting groceries and seeing to a new stove just the way she wanted it. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and showed her into the main room before getting a couple mugs of cool tea.

She sat holding her hands in her lap the way she always did when she was thinking hard before slowly saying, “Nag, I’m sorry to have teased you about the woman in Dale. You don’t get over women.”

“What teasing? I tell you because you understand these things.”

“No, I was making old-lady banter and I embarrassed you. Please forgive me.”

“If you insist, but I didn’t notice. She was quite lovely and perfect except that any woman I want deserves someone who will stay by her. That has been hard medicine to swallow. I told you before, I love females. I love them for themselves. I love intimacy. Men in my position often have concubines or long-suffering wives they can order about, taking what they want. I cannot bring myself to do that.”

Tal was ready to cry. She knew this, which made loving him so much more complicated. He couldn’t have an ordinary human life. Nag Kath collected his satchel and showed her a picture of a pretty young woman, “This is Grace. She doesn’t look like you but you were cut from the same bolt. I wished she would have come with me, I told her I loved her ...," he grew wistful, "but I did not beg.” 

His next thought netted the famous grin, “I took a page from your book and tried to reunite her with a very handsome young man. And I feel better for that. I want the best for her, just as I did for you, dear Tal.”

Tal did start to cry. “Nag, I want that for you. Can you not live with a woman like you did with Eniece all those years?”

He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb and said, “Yes, yes I could, and I would. I am a wandering spirit now. Though it was not so long ago that every man and lad who could bear a sword was called from those they love to fight, fight and likely die. It happened over and over again. It happened to you. I am the last soldier of a war that never ended. Tal, I wish with all my heart it had. I was saved, time and again, for that purpose – like the Elf of the Star. Please understand.”

She did. She finally did. It did not mean he couldn’t enjoy himself in the meantime, though. His meantime could be a life of men. She knew just the candidate. Tal had never gotten over Florice, her greatest achievement in matchmaking, her greatest disappointment. She saw Flor a month ago. The woman was not with her beau but that did not mean he was not still around. They chatted for a few minutes about nothing in particular. Neither offered how they could be reached, although Tal was where she always was.

Nag Kath slyly reminded her of another introduction, “Tal, were you behind Eniecia and Caladrion?”

She smiled her best enigmatic smile, “Fraid so, dear man.”

“How is that progressing?”

“I think well, but the young man travels quite a bit. The child still dances and hums those curious southern songs.”

“Not a child anymore. Yes, I am afraid we put her on the spot going to Rohan. I thought she might strangle Shurran but she was beautiful and much lauded. Sometimes we must be pulled from our shell.”

Just as she knew he had been. “Nag, I will be a better friend. No, no, please do not protest. And, if I happen to meet someone you might like, forgive me for that too.”

He had always thought she tried to join him with females to replace what he could not have with her. She left him. Nag Kath recovered and was married long and well but Tal still felt responsible. He laughed and admitted, “Yes, you have excellent taste. Please, just no one whose heart I will break.”

It was several weeks before he heard from the King. Aragorn had been at his farm in Lossarnach much of the late spring and only returned six days past. His pattern was to visit Arnor every other year as the northern capital of Annúminas was restored and then to either stay at the stud or travel elsewhere in the off-year. The Elf was shown into the private study he liked so well. He thought it odd that he had never made a study of his own. Both of his homes were barns, good for entertaining but not very personal. He might change that.

After the last day of his visit with Radagast he decided not to explain the picture of Melkor. Shurran was sworn to secrecy by some Dalish blood oath. Revealing the Dwarf ring turned out poorly, a lesson learned. This was just a picture of a dream but might be more. Nag Kath also stayed with his decision not to mention Elrond’s book. As long as Elves lived, it may take a deal more time before Arwen was ready to treat with him as kindred. 

Conversation stayed to Radagast and the unsolved mystery of the right-living sorcerer. Aragorn enjoyed the company of wizards, though he had only met Radagast once, long ago. The brown wizard was a favorite uncle; sweet and a bit scattered, but fiercely protective of creatures that could not defend themselves. That he seemed to be growing into his forest made sense considering Gandalf said Radagast saw the need to stay behind.

His Lordship made a suggestion, which, like many lordly suggestions, was of moment. “You might enjoy visiting Ithilien and seeing the growth there, Nag Kath.”

Nag Kath had seen almost nothing but Ithilien for seven years. When his expression stayed the same, Aragorn added, “I mean further south, below Emyn Arnen. That is most of the land. It was much abused by Sauron but is becoming beautiful again. I understand there are still water problems.”

“Then I will, Sire. May I ask a favor while I am here?”

“Of course.”

“I would like to show my grand-daughter the painting of King Turambar in the magistry room. Perhaps one of the lady escorts could explain it to her.”

“Yes, she does look like the Queen. Come anytime.”

Three days later, Lady Eniecia and Lord Kath walked the short way to the seventh gate and were admitted at the preferred palace entrance. Staff knew they would come and could take good care of them. On the way up he asked her, “Are you still dancing the Water Blossom?”

The girl gave him a knowing look and said, “It is one of my favorites.”

“Good. So you are no longer mooning over impossible matches?”

Eniecia laughed as a woman, not a child and said, “Almost. Now, what devilry have you got in mind, grand-da?”

“We will retrace some of your poor Uncle Nag’s steps.” 

The docent introduced herself as Nathalda with a curt bow. This was not the leisurely tour most visitors got. Nathalda strode at a fair pace back towards the interior ministry offices to the double-doors of the court-room. With no royals there were no guards so they just stepped in. 

Nag Kath took Eniecia’s hand and led her to the painting that created his first impression of beauty, and probably saved his life in the bargain. At first the girl looked at the scope of the large work until her eyes found the woman he had described a year before. Her eyes got wider and she put her hand over her opening mouth, as girls are taught by fifth and sixth level parents.

Eniecia walked closer and touched Queen Nepthat’s face gently with her fingers. She turned to Nag Kath without saying anything and then turned back to the lovely face observing dour lords signing some forgotten treaty. This is what the old Nag meant. It was her, and great granna too. Had she been reborn in a familiar form so there would always be a Queen Nepthat in the world?

When the initial awe faded, Nag Kath asked Nathalda to explain what she knew of the piece. She started, “Well, Lord Kath, Lady Eniecia, this was the protocol of Burgiss in the year 614 of the Third …”

When he could get a word in edgewise he asked, “Tell us of the Queen. She is why we are here.”

Nathalda looked closely at the wondrous young woman and also saw the remarkable resemblance. “I am sorry, sir. All we know is her name and that she had two sons and some daughters.”

He thought the scholars might have more information buried in the archives. “Thank you, Nathalda. Eniecia, are you ready for lunch?”


	7. The Beast Pool

**_Chapter 7_ **

**_The Beast Pool_ **

The King’s suggestion to visit Ithilien was tantamount to a royal command. The Elf knew better than to ask why since Sauron and water were in the same statement. And it was not very far away. First he saw to Broughtur Mülto’s recovery and meeting with Reyald. The two men knew each other from being in Nag Kath’s sphere but business was another matter. The Elf put a hundred Florin into Kathen as the Conath's interest. Mülto would work with Reyald, embassy time permitting, to purchase property and set up the rents. Broughtur thought this a fine idea. His health scare reminded him that he had already won his race and it was time to enjoy the fruits.

Two months after returning to Gondor, Nag Kath visited Osgiliath. Tum was pleased to see him and learned there was a new partner across the river. That was fine with him and he liked Reyald already. If he was kin to Nag, he was family. After a couple days, the Elf made his way up the Neussan to the original compound at Gimli’s Cascade. It never failed to impress when the sun caught it right. He did not know any of the men there but they knew of him and served a fine dinner.

The bridge that started all of this was on the road he would take south exploring Lord Faramir’s fief. He stopped in Emyn Arnen first to pay his respects and was received for tea by their Highnesses. Faramir looked as he always did but Ëowyn was finally showing age, she less Dúnedain than he. Alas, he had just missed the newlyweds from Rohan. Nag Kath told them of the nuptials in Dale. He was back on the road at dawn.

Three lazy days south he pulled even with the tallest of the Ephel Düath mountains some fifteen leagues due east. They had the same sort of raging streams pouring down from year-round snow caps like the aqueduct waterfall. The road veered more to the Anduin than the peaks into the river flats as he got further down. From there he jogged cross-country east towards the mountains. Ground rose more slowly than near the Nuessan across rolling hills with a mix of trees and grasslands feeding streams running towards Pelargir. Before dusk, he made camp with enough time to sit as he often did with his arms around his knees holding a cup of hot tea. It was quite a view all the way to the Anduin and past, still a hundred miles from Pelargir. 

The next day he crossed a valley hidden from the river view that was lush with flowers and fruits. It was perfect … a little too perfect. These were planted. Ents? Too far south. Radagast said he had not been here. Yet there were no men, tending and watering and pulling weeds the way they always did. Why had the King sent him here? It would be for a good reason. He helped himself to the little blue berries and had Lembas for dinner.

An hour before dawn, two men, possibly three, had quietly taken positions in the brush some twenty paces from his camp. They did not speak to each other. Charlo was unconcerned, which was unusual. At first light, two men moved closer to each other and then approached the blanket over the saddle near the cold fire. Both were wearing dark green cloaks with hoods over their heads. They also carried bows with arrows in hand but not nocked. Rangers? Neither said a word. He did. From behind them; “Drop those bows or we will have trouble.”

People never listen! One caught a fist on the jaw and the other got a blade under his throat. Nag Kath said, “I asked nicely. Drop it.” The man did. “And now the dirk at your side.” That fell too. 

Nag Kath pushed him towards his fallen comrade, pulling his hood back in the process. Then he gawked for a moment, “Eru bless us.” His captives were Elves in the brown and green of field ohtars. Our Elf sheathed his sword and said, “Get his feet. We will take him to the camp site.” They propped him sitting against a rock. The changeling looked at the standing ohtar and asked tersely, “What are you doing?”

The fellow straightened and announced, “You are on Elvish lands. You will come with us.” Perhaps he hadn’t noticed who still had a sword. 

Nag Kath leaned over the prostrate Elf and held his face, transferring a slight silver spell to help him regain his wits and heal the bruise. That would still take a few minutes so he turned to the other and said, “Where are you from?”

When the Elf said nothing, Nag Kath poured his canteen on the unconscious Quendu’s head. His eyes slowly cleared and then he awkwardly scrambled to his feet saying, “You are trespassing and must come with us!”

The orc shook his head, “Very well, don’t forget your weapons.”

______________-------______________

The ohtars were on foot so he led Charlo about a hundred paces. The punched Elf was stumbling in less than a straight line so Nag Kath handed the reins to the other and helped his victim into the saddle. When he was up Nag Kath asked, “What’s your name?” He got no answer for lack of focus. His companion said the rider was Athandoled. He did not give his own name.

After a bell they disappeared around a hill on a spur path that could not be seen from the main road. Before long, tilled farms with all manner of foods and livestock were growing along the stream plain as it widened into a lush valley. Provender was tended by Elves who waved showing no caution. After another hour they made a community built around several large structures in Elvish style and dozens of smaller houses, some free-standing, some like Hobbit holes dug into the bank. 

Athandoled was alert by the time they tied Charlo outside the smallest of the main buildings. Nag Kath and the unnamed ohtar pulled him down and made sure of his balance before letting him stand on his own. The healthy one went inside and was back out a minute later with a robed Elf of seeming dignitas who walked up to Nag Kath and said in Westron, “You were taken on our lands without leave.”

Not really paying attention, Nag Kath looked around and asked, “What is this place?”

The high Elf pronounced, “I will ask the questions here!”

Our Elf had enough silliness and said in Sindarin, “Then ask them quickly for I am here on the King’s business!”

Everyone within earshot, and for Elves that covers a wide swath, stopped and gawked. The official knew someone had made a mistake. Who would be determined anon. He said to the two ohtars, “See that he stays here” and went back inside. Nag Kath fetched a Lembas cake from his saddlebag and walked to a small garden next to the two largest buildings. The recovering Elf excused himself and followed the official. The sound Elf shadowed the captive and sat on the bench next to him. Nag Kath offered him some of his faux-Lembas which the fellow took out of courtesy and ate ruefully. 

About the time the cake was gone, a tall figure approached from a side door of the main building. The ohtar looked at him, nodded and left. The new Elf cleared his throat before saying in the common tongue, “I would have rather have never met you. Your kind were better destroyed.”

Nag Kath said without looking up, “Then you need to speak to your welcoming committee.” He looked over at his host for a long moment and cracked the smallest smile, “I see your father in you.”

Prince Legolas was serious. Even though his friends Aragorn and Gimli said the Uruk was fair company, the Elf could have done without the last monster of an age. The Prince was taller than average wearing long, blonde hair pulled back without ornamentation. Dressed as a field officer, he had no visible weapons. Nag Kath left his on Charlo, save the little pen-knife.

The prisoner broke the silence, “How is your soldier?”

Legolas replied, “Better than he might be." He had heard of the bloody ‘fast’. "Thank you for your care.”

“You are welcome. Since my being here does not seem to be your idea, do you know why the King sent me this way? He said something about water.”

Oh that sneaky Ranger! Legolas mentioned one of his main streams having gone bad the last time he met the King and Prince Faramir. This was Kath of the Water, personally responsible for the hideous gouge from the mountains to Osgiliath, a lingering legacy of Saruman's industrial horror. Legolas had asked folk not to mention his whereabouts. He supposed that had to end someday. The Prince appraised his guest now that he was sitting here. Big for an Elf, and he thought he must be a physical Elf despite his origin, dressed like a man in new and expensive clothes with hair in the manner of city dwellers. Men would certainly think of him as outcast from the society of Elves, such as Elves remained. He rode a Lossarnach mount. The ohtar had a cut on his throat from an Elvish andamacil (longsword). Neither scout saw him coming. Yes, he had other talents.

Legolas sighed, “It may be. Come, I know you missed breakfast.”

The Lord took him inside the middle of the three public buildings where there was a commons. Elves seldom eat lunch. They have one large and one small meal a day but when can vary with their schedule. As in Thranduil’s halls, there were no bells. Everyone seemed to know the time, as measured in their needs. After helping themselves to delicious food on a counter, they sat across from each other at the end of a long dining table with another dozen male and female Elves. All were dressed like Silvans with a wide variety of hair color and complexions. They acknowledged their Prince but did not rise or babble obsequiously. One did pass a pitcher of water over for Legolas to fill two mugs. After topping them he said, “I will call a meeting tonight. We are having trouble with one of our streams. Perhaps King Elessar thinks you can help.”

“I would be honored, my Lord. In the meantime, please, tell me of your home.”

Lord Legolas knew several of those seated with them did not speak the common tongue. Evidently this yrch (Sindarin for the large northern orcs) spoke theirs. Wanting to include everyone, he said in Sindarin, “This is a place of growing. Some of us raise food and other crops to sustain us and to trade along the Anduin. Others of us help restore the terrible damage done by the dark ones to the east.” 

Legolas emphasized ‘dark ones’ in the sentence. After all this time, Arwen still suspected him of secret loyalties. It might just be that if a man forgave a grudge held a decade, that was one in five parts of his adult life. For Elves, that could be a thousand years. Nag Kath did not know how many of the folk here knew his background. He would be careful and not as quick to anger as he was with the pompous official an hour before.

In Sindarin he said to the table as a whole, “You have a lovely place here.”

What a strange accent! It was understandable but certainly not like their northern dialect, not close to Lorien either. Legolas added, “This is Nag Kath and he will be staying with us for a while. Please help him learn of Emyn Vierald and introduce him to others.”

That was the first Nag Kath knew he wouldn’t be loaded onto Charlo with the town administrator smacking the horse across the backside. Looking around the table, he reminded himself that the beautiful women were not here for his entertainment. Pity; that, but rules are rules. The Prince said to a Quendu at the other end of the table, “Kendaroulas, would you see to our guest’s accommodations?”

“Aye, my Lord.”

Both commoners took that to mean the meal was over. Kendaroulas and Nag Kath bowed to Legolas and took Charlo to the stable. It was quite a luxurious arrangement with large, spotless stalls and fresh hay. The horse was hungry and did not stand on ceremony. Some of Nag Kath’s mannish came out in asking, “Kendaroulas, are you my guide because you have a sense of humor or because you don’t?”

The Elf smiled, “That depends on who you ask. My wife would tell you no. Friends call me Kendar.” He went on to explain a bit of the settlement. All told there were three hundred thirty people, most from the northern Kingdom but quite a few from Lorien spread over a circle about thirty miles across. They would eventually go to Valinor but felt there was worthy work to be done in repairing the blight of Sauron. 

The Prince had spent quite some time after the war in the Glittering Caves with his friend Gimli as the Dwarf explored their wonders and later made good on his promise to see Elf-tended forests in return. Legolas wasn't here that often. Most of these Elves came twenty years ago after streams returned to health. Using soil and craft from their homes, trees grew tall and plants lush in their widening sphere of influence.

Kendaroulas was one of the forest-keepers. His brother was a farmer. Both were married with one child each. Nag Kath asked him, “Do you feel a pull from the Undying Lands?”

“Yes, I do and so do most here. We know that our life-force is bound to those lands but this has been our home for our entire lives. We will go when the work is done here, done or ready to hand to those who come next.” 

The town of Emyn Vierald was laid in a semi-circle spreading from the south base of a steep foothill so it got good sun all day. A stream about four paces across flowed directly through the middle of it, spanned by a bridge large enough to support carts. As a bridge-man, Nag Kath always looked underneath and at the foundations. Kendar said he had errands and took his guest to a small house on the south end of the complex. Like most Elvish structures, the doors had latches but no locks. Inside was a large main room and stove with four sleeping areas on each corner. Evidently this was a hostel for visitors, though Nag Kath was the only one there just now. More welcome guests would stay with families and friends. His corner had a bed that was long-enough, a basin and a small dresser. 

Kendar told him when to present himself at the main building for dinner with the Prince and they both left, Kendar to do whatever he was doing and Nag Kath to collect his pack. It was only mid-afternoon so he stopped at a lovely vista and pulled his sketch pad to doodle. Not long after, two children came fearlessly up to him and looked over his shoulder. One girl, one boy, of about the same age watched silently until he looked back in welcome, “How do you do? I am Nag Kath.”

They bowed or curtsied and the girl said, “Fine, thank you Nag Kath.”

In his experience, the fast way to get someone involved is to ask their advice, “Now, what do you call this hill directly in front of us?”

The boy answered, “That is Emyn Mantath, sir.”

“Do you ever go there?”

The girl smiled and said, “Yes, mother and father take us there sometimes for picnics.” Odd; that. Usually Elves aren’t born within a hundred years of each other. Perhaps they were twins. Youngsters take about time-and-a-half longer than men to mature and seem to stop aging at round forty, almost his age now, although they divined each other's age from signs he could not yet tell. 

Nag Kath smiled himself and said, “Then I will just have to draw you there.” He sketched a tiny family on the edge of a meadow sitting in the grass, too small other than to give it scale. Signing it at the bottom he gave it to the girl saying, “Here is something to remember your lovely day.” She took it gracefully and they bowed again before hurrying home to show their parents.

That was enough art for one day. Nag Kath returned to his corner for rest after the minor sorcery of healing the ohtar’s jaw. If they were like him, it would have healed in a day or two, but it kept the soldier from falling off the horse.

______________-------______________

Far earlier than someone with a sense of proper Elvish time, Nag Kath went to a large house close to the administrative building and loitered until he saw others making their way. A serious-looking ohtar on the porch wasn’t quite a guard but he wasn’t there for the scenery either. Nag Kath left his weapons in his room so the fellow gave him a professional appraisal and nodded as our Elf went inside.

Dinner was to be at a long, wide table that seemed rather more rustic than Thranduil’s. He sat next to the couple he followed who smiled but said nothing. Other folk were coming in and sat in no special precedence except reserving the middle seats of one side. As the table filled, they all conversed with no seeming concern he would hear them. He kept his own counsel. By the appointed time he counted seven males and three females plus himself.

Before long, Legolas arrived with a secretary or steward. Everyone seated rose and bowed. He bowed back just as deeply and said, “Please, resume your chairs.” This was not the start of a council. Folk kept on with their same conversations as wine was served with small plates of greens and bread. It was only after that that Legolas began, “Thank you all for coming. Joining us tonight is Nag Kath of Gondor and places north. King Elessar has sent him our way.”

They looked at him again and nodded. He nodded back wondering again if any other than Legolas knew of his colorful past. It was probable. Some here might recognize him from his visits to the Elven Halls. The woman next to him was not put-off by history and said, “Welcome to Emyn Vierald, Nag Kath. I am Geniev and this is my husband Temuilen.” The Elf next to her smiled and nodded, no shaking hands with this lot. She continued, “Is this about the water?”

He said soberly, “I am not sure, Geniev. I seem to be a mystery guest. Thank you for your warm welcome, though.”

Temuilen added, “Yes, welcome. We have mysteries indeed.”

They did not get much further before it became the official topic. The Elf who came in with Legolas cleared his throat and all conversation around the table stopped. He then said in a low voice of great gravitas, “We are gathered to discuss the toxic water and the damage it does our labor. As we have a guest, I will explain.”

When you live thousands of years, you have to be gracious hearing the same things over again. The Elf continued for the benefit of the newcomer, “Last year the south tributary to our main river ran foul and killed all of the plants along it as far back as the mountain. When it joins the Telengaur, the larger flows dilute it enough to water crops but they are not as healthy as they were before. Those of us who were here before the war recognized it was the same trouble as poisoned water coming from the Dark Lord’s domain.”

Legolas thanked him for the summary and announced, “Now, friends, Aragorn has sent someone who might lend aid. Let us use his experience to see if this calamity can be assuaged. Nag Kath, know you of such trouble?” 

“Some, My Lord. It will be hard to guess without seeing. Is there a smell or color that is new?”

Legolas looked to a dark-haired Elf dressed in field green and tan. He surveyed the table and said, “Not that we can tell. Those who drank of it before the extent was known were ill. Men of Ithilien further downstream have been sickened even by the main watercourse. Last spring is the closest we can come to the time.”

An Elf three down from Nag Kath added, “I saw these lands long ago and remembered most of the streams from the Düath ran rank and killed the greens along their path.”

That started a general conversation among everyone, who were all here because they had a direct role in how the water affected their community. Legolas was eating and content to let them talk. About ten minutes later someone said, “It is water coming from Mordor!”

Nag Kath said softly at first and building the way he had been taught to control the room, “It is not Mordor.” No one spoke. They didn’t even chew. “I was there two years ago riding the other side of these mountains. The leeward does not get nearly the rain you do, but the streams were running clear. I tested all of them as I traveled north from the Nûrnen.”

No one was quite sure what would happen next. And who exactly was this man who spoke their tongue and was in Mordor, most forsaken of Arda? This was their Lord’s idea so he broke the inertia asking something he already knew, “Nag Kath, you have been to Mordor?”

“Aye, Prince Legolas. I went to destroy a surviving ring of power. I got there through Khand but returned to Gondor through Cirith Ungol. Water making its way east was drinkable and there were beginnings of plants along the banks.”

So, what Aragorn had told him about the Dwarf ring was true! Legolas would bet diamonds against pebbles that old Stonehelm was fit to be tied. He was more interested in how the changeling knew. “Pray, Nag Kath, how could you tell they were clean?”

“After the war, I was given a gift by one of the Maiar that lets me divine the life-essence of the races. They show as a color. Orcs, and other creatures of Sauron, hint green with blackish threads. I can feel that in water as well. There were two such streams in Mirkwood, two days west of the turn to Your Lordship’s northern realm. Some of you may remember them. Fearnold said there was another I didn't find. They are gone now. I ran the same test on the raging waters above Minas Morgul and they were pure.”

Oh, so HE was Kath of the Water!" Most here had heard of him, even if they weren’t impressed by the graceless aqueduct. A robed Elf who seemed to know his business said, “I remember. Coming up from Dol Goldur. Running the wrong way, almost. Perhaps a pace across each?”

Nag Kath nodded.

A truly beautiful woman, who did not appear to be in the company of a male and who had not said much until now asked with some trepidation, “Are you sent to test the waters of the Telengaur?”

Nag Kath remembered not to be too charming and answered, “So it seems, My Lady, by Lord Legolas’ leave.”

Everyone at the table looked at the Lord. He nodded.

______________-------______________

About half the people from dinner and four troopers were mounted at first light. Charlo had been saddled and fitted. By habit, Nag Kath slid his fingers under the horse’s belly strap to check the cinch and climbed aboard. The pretty woman who asked after his coming was among them and also on a horse with an ear-tattoo. Elves don’t brand their horses. That is only for men who would argue over rightful ownership. It said something about Legolas. Gimli pointedly told Nag Kath that the Elf Prince might not want to be found. If Legolas was riding the King’s horses and lording over a meaningful swath of Ithilien, he would have been in those capitals many times while the aqueduct was built. Nag Kath was never the wiser. That said something about him too. 

Prince Legolas whispered, “Chik, chik,” and pulled his mount towards the southeast. They rode for an hour at a comfortable speed and reached a river about twenty paces across running fairly deep, bridged wide enough to fit a stout cart. Plants alongside were scabby and stunted twenty paces on both sides. The company formed up in single file to cross, continuing another thirty paces until they reached green grass. The Lord dismounted and everyone followed suit, letting their horses graze as the Elves walked back to the brown river bank.

The Elf who spoke about the Mirkwood streams observed, “You can see the wasting. It grows worse further up but we cannot tell from the plants when we reach the rocks of the Ephel Düath.”

Nag Kath listened carefully and looked at the Prince who gave him the slightest of nods. Then he walked to the bank and clicked his little pocket-knife, swishing it in the water for any sign of blue. If it glowed it was too faint to tell in sunlight. As everyone watched, he pulled off his boots and socks. One of the Elves was about to caution him against entering the water but the Prince shook his head and the fellow remained silent.

Much like in the Nuessan years ago, he walked knee deep in the flow and soaked his hand. Raising his arm to the sky, Nag Kath began to glow Elvish silver. After a moment, the slightest aura of dark, almost like the steam of a doused campfire, circled him and snaked up his arm into the air. That lasted only a few seconds until he lowered his arm and walked back to Legolas saying, “It is fouled all right, sorcerously too. Something old and rotten has returned.”

In his mind, Legolas took back his half-hearted criticisms of Aragorn for inflicting the Uruk-hai upon him. The Prince called all to sit in a circle in the grass near the horses. He looked to Nag Kath who reported, “Same as Mirkwood. Are there folk up or down this stream?”

The other woman of the group who had not spoken to him before answered, “We abandoned a settlement up this valley. Men live along the bank as this joins other streams into the Great River. They report sickness but not plagues.”

The creature was sent for a purpose. Legolas raised his eyebrow and asked, “What do you recommend, Nag Kath?”

“An expedition up the mountain, My Lord. I must follow the rivulets until the source is discovered, just the opposite of Minas Morgul. It will be a long, hard business and I will need a half-troop of hardy rangers, or whatever they are called among your folk.”

That netted some surprise. Wasn’t he of their folk? While they considered that he added, “Do you have donkeys that can carry packs in rough terrain?”

______________-------______________

Back at Emyn Vierald, Nag Kath was at leisure while others did the organizing. Even in high summer, those peaks would be cold so stocks were laid-in of coats, food, packs and other kit for a month on the slopes. The plan was for six of their folk and Nag Kath to leave three days hence. They would travel by horse with pack animals in tow until they reached the point where the horses could not manage the ground. 

In those three days Nag Kath got an overdue lesson in Elvish reproduction. A couple of their community, young at less than a thousand years each, had entered into their joining. She sensed her first fertility coming a month before and told her husband who felt it soon afterwards. Even though they would be sailing away within a few years, they agreed it was their time.

This was not the monthly cycle of human women except for the advent of conception. From now on they would go about their duties but stay near home in each other’s company. By the time Nag Kath arrived, they were starting their physical intimacy after dark but out and about during the day. He only saw them once and thought they looked like any other couple who enjoyed themselves the night before.

The odder thing was the reaction of the community. In the company of men, just as in the barge camp on the Dusenorn, one man’s pleasure would either be envied or garner good-natured appreciation by men who wished it was them. Not here. Everyone respected the couple’s privacy and sometimes finished chores for them, more like aiding an injury than recreation. As this was their first joining, there were no children to mind over as many as four weeks of physical closeness. No one was inspired to take their woman, or any other, home for a roll in the hay.

Nag Kath wondered about the male. His ardor was conditional on the receptiveness of his female. Did Elf men also have fertility cycles? Had he ever had one? Would it take a She-Elf to awaken his seed? Thinking made wakeful rest very difficult and he was glad to get on the road with his fellow celibates.

This lot traveled with real Lorien Lembas – more nutritious than his clumsy efforts. Four of the seven were soldiers, one was of their restoration corps and one was their equivalent of an engineer. They all had horses along with three donkeys carrying tents, food, heavy outerwear and grain for the animals if they climbed higher than forage. Brown river banks continued due east for several days. When the vegetation lessened in the hills, Nag Kath tested the water at confluences. Once when he sampled two rivulets in one day, he told his troop he needed to sleep rather than rest that night. Most of the time, he could simply pass his hand over the water for a sense.

After five days of slow going, they reached the point where the horses were a liability. One of the ohtars made camp with the horses while the other six continued with the donkeys that shared their opinions about the effort. Even Elves, famous comforters of horses, only held so much sway with donkeys. 

Only one stream in each confluence was tainted. Alas, it was always the big one. Even this high, the foul water was fully eight paces across and raging hard. 

Not needing sleep and seeing well at night, it was still prudent not to press on with this kind of footing. They huddled in the two remaining tents to stay warm and fed the donkeys that tried to steal oats from each other’s packs until someone barked at them in wargish.

In luck, after a fashion, there was a trail through the crags for another three days, enough for the animals to get decent purchase. That ended abruptly in a field of broken shale covering twelve square miles down the side of a sawtooth ridge. The tainted stream gurgled through it on the way down and emerged at the bottom. The entire side of this mountain had collapsed recently. There was no going forward so they backtracked half a day and tried climbing further to the south. That went fairly well, finally gaining an allied peak the next day. The donkeys needed more food at night but their hooves held fast in the snow. 

This high, they could see a crater or bowl just below the former peak at the source of the water. Time was running low. They had plenty of Lembas but the donkeys would run out of grain in a week. Nag Kath explained, “I need a look in that hole. Does anyone remember an earthquake about the time the water went bad?”

No one recalled any such thing but this was far from the world. “With fortune on our side, I figure it will take a day to get there on foot without the beasts and a day back. You do not have to go, though I would be glad of company if there is rope-work needed.”

Cristigir and Doronthial immediately said they would be honored to come. At dawn, the three took as little as would sustain them and started picking their way through the rocks. Whatever had collapsed the adjacent mountain had not happened here and footing was fair until they reached the rubble itself. From there it was three hours of treacherous slipping and clinging. Doronthial was hit in the shin by a sliding tile of slate that took Nag Kath’s healing powers and the Elf’s own restoration to close. 

When they made the edge of the pit, all three vomited.

Uruk-hai do not lose their Lembas easily. In the water swirling below them were the bones and flesh of huge trolls and what Cristigir explained were fell-beasts the Nazgul rode in the sky. All was floating in the current like boiling stew with a nauseating stench. They were not decomposing, just chunks and carcasses with thick greasy foam lapping at the sides. Nag Kath put the pit at perhaps eighty paces long by thirty across. The top of the mountain had collapsed, diverting the snow-melt between the two peaks into this cauldron of evil, like the Dead Marshes, waiting in malevolence.

The three Elves sat down away from the edge and gathered themselves. Nag Kath said, “Forgive me but I know nothing of Elvish lore. Do you know if any of Sauron’s troops were this far south?”

Doronthial shifted his leg painfully and considered that, “Troops; I do not think so. A loremaster might correct me but I would say this was a breeding pool, perhaps for the fell-beasts and their minder-trolls. There aren't many lakes that size nearer Cirith Ungol. My brethren near Dale would not have seen them. I hail from Lorien and they fouled the sky coming and going from Dol Guldor.”

Concerned for his friend, Cristigir interrupted, “Nag Kath, if you have seen what you need, let us return to the flat ground an hour back to make camp away from this horrible place.” 

Crawling out of their tent at dawn in a raw wind, Doronthail had a noticeable limp. He needed more healing or he would have trouble on the loose rock. In the lee of the tent, Nag Kath had him remove his boot and sock, rolling his pant leg up to expose an angry wound. The cut had opened and bruised so our Elf used his fishhook and thread to stitch it shut. Then he applied a healing spell using both hands, this time silver on silver, to help with swelling. Neither Elf had seen that before. This came from the wizard school of cures rather than their own and Nag Kath had not learned to summon the Elvish healing of Elrond. They were still impressed and, more importantly, the pain was manageable.

Doronthail was sore for the rest of the hike across the ridge, leaving his pack behind hoping to join their friends by the end of the day. There was still more work to do. One of the other ohtars stayed with Doronthial so Cristigir and Nag Kath could climb the nearest saddle to the Mordor side of the range. The leeward had a more gradual slope with a sizeable river to the south – perhaps the Lizzurant. Footing was better too. Nag Kath was glad he looked. 


	8. Queer Healing

**_Chapter 8_ **

**_Queer Healing_ **

Legolas called another council the evening they returned. All of the riders and the same group of advisors were met this time after dinner in the same room.

Cristigir started the report, “My Lord, ladies and gentlefolk, we discovered that a landslide toppled one of the mountain peaks, diverting the main watercourse through what Doronthail explained is the remnant of a breeding pool for the Nazgûl fell-beasts. There is sorcery still there, still active, that keeps foulness from dying."

Engineer Dythas, who stayed on the neighboring peak added, “There are not enough Dwarves in the world to divert the stream away from the pool. It is the largest single supply of water to the Telengaur, making perhaps half of it by the time it runs through Emyn Vierald.”

Prince Legolas allowed a quarter of an hour of discussion on the pool and contents. If it could not be rerouted, what were his options? Nag Kath kept quiet throughout until Legolas called on him with the essential question, “Nag Kath, what keeps that place befouled?”

“My Lord, I think this runs much further than a beast pit, and I am speculating here, for which I apologize. I have traveled, as many of you have, from here to the northern wastes and there are instances of continued dark spells the whole way. The Dead Marshes should have faded. Barrow-wights still prowl. People will swear ghosts haunt the Mournshaws waiting for infamy. And now we have the very mounts of the Nazgûl roiling in undeath.”

Fallingahs, oldest and wisest of the council spoke gravely, “What they all have in common is the Witch-King, dead by the hand of the fair Lady of this very land. Loremasters set store that he had talismans and repositories of his own foul sorcery before being bound completely in the service of Sauron. They continue in his purpose though he is gone.

“It is far-afield but makes more sense than anything else. I would add that Dol Guldor still seethes with blackness. The nine were much there at their master’s bidding as necromancer. It is reliably said that the horses of the nine were swept away at the Bruinen. Perhaps the Lord of the Nazgûl was tasked to replace them with the fell-beasts.”

Legolas looked at his revered counselor, “Fallingahs, do you think the answer lies in those wretched Guldor ruins?”

Fallingahs shook his head and said softly, “Angmar.”

______________-------______________

The Elves could not cleanse their water from here. That river and everything it touched would suffer. Legolas recalled his most senior advisors the next morning. Most of their farming and reforesting was unaffected but it seemed there was no end of ancient malice. It was a short meeting. Legolas would go see his old friends the King of the Reunited Kingdom and Prince Faramir to explain what they found. And as much as he did not like it, the Uruk had been of service, just as others had said of him. He might have been less impressed if he knew how distracted the changeling was with joyous coupling only four doors from his guest quarters.

Prince Legolas had more time than he wanted. Any incursion into Angmar would come from Arnor with no help from the Eldar. Troops would follow their sovereign but might not be enthusiastic about cleaning Elvish water. The threat was to Ithilien and by extension Gondor and by extension the entire Kingdom. Now late summer, it would come, if it came, from the King returning to Annúminas next spring. The water would have to be foul at least that long – longer if his advisors were wrong about what was keeping these cesspits of Sauron alive.

Legolas thought about the Uruk. He was forbidden Erebor. Did that include greater Erebor of the Glittering Caves? Legends had it, now more believable than before, that the creature had negotiated with orcs. There would be orcs aplenty in the crescent of Angmar. As long as they stayed there no one was inclined to bother with them. But the orcs would not be in charge. It would be men in Angmar, the same disgruntled, bitter men that had always lived there. They might have nothing to do with this sorcery either. In the end, Legolas was a creature of action. Decisive movement was needed. After the harvest he would talk with the Lords of Gondor.

Nag Kath came to the same conclusions. He also knew that if Aragorn intended to take troops into Angmar, he would ask the changeling’s help. The orcs outside the crescent said there were orcs inside. The latter would certainly defend their lands unless someone gave them a good reason not to. He smiled wondering if Lake Evendim, home to the summer capital, had whisker-fish.

No one from the Prince’s staff had spoken to him since their return from the mountains so he decided he would learn what he could, starting with healing. And now he had an excellent excuse to ask. Kendar said their healer was the Quenda (woman) Loniel. Nag Kath asked for an introduction since Elves do not share their secrets with former yrchs. Late in the afternoon they went to a modest home on the other side of the community from the guest quarters and waited in a sitting room while she attended a patient.

Not long after, an Elf left her healing room gingerly with his foot wrapped in a bandage. He was no sooner out the door than the beautiful She-Elf of the water meetings greeted them. Both visitors stood to exchanged bows. Kendar began introducing the guest and their reason for coming. When Loniel saw the chance, she interrupted saying, “Thank you dear Kendar. I have already met Nag Kath.”

Duty done, he said goodbye and followed the limping Elf to see if he could help. Both Nag Kath and Loniel remained standing, saying nothing. When the silence was overwhelming, he began his purpose in coming, “Forgive me, I had not heard your name before. It is Loniel, yes?”

What a curious accent. “Loniel, yes.”

He supposed that a healer should be one of the water council. It also gave him cover for his more general questions. There was no time like the present, “I came to ask more about the effects of the taint for your people and those downstream.”

‘Your people’? Yes, he was not really an Elf. The Prince did not trust him but told his subjects to assist; a delicate balance? On the other hand, he found the poison at its source, something none of them could do. To buy a little time she asked, “Would you like tea? It is cold.”

“Cold is how I like it in summer.”

Please, sit over here. I’ll just get some.”

Finally; a chair that fit him. He measured the height on his thigh to have one made back home. Loniel brought him a mug and one for herself. Adjusting the smallest pleat in her skirt she wondered, “What would you like to know, Mr. Kath?”

“Please, just Nag Kath. I wanted to learn when these troubles started and what it did to people.”

She looked slightly upward as if to recollect and said, “Spring, last year. Plants along the Telengaur died quickly and the brown spread as far as you saw on our ride. Our Tanduiviel community upstream drank the water and became ill with digestive complaints.” He imagined she put that delicately but his face registered nothing but concern. “I am told that men further downstream had the same difficulties. The impure water was more diluted but they do not have our resilience.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Loniel.” He paused but she offered no diminutive. “What remedies did you find effective?”

“Burney root in tea and Cholis leaves ground and eaten. I believe your people call it Red Colich.” 

It was Nag Kath’s turn to wonder who ‘his people’ were. He plodded on, trying not to sound like a guardi, “Were there reports of troubles of the mind like; anger or confusion?”

She took a sip of her tea and answered, “Yes, both, some folk more than others. They passed with the lower disorders and all are fine now.” She eased into a lovely smile and said, “I confess, I was a bit disordered when I went there to attend our people, but I only drank of the water once and then we determined that was the cause.”

He smiled too, “You seem fine now. Would you like me to see if any has remained?”

Oh dear! It sounded so innocent. She saw with her own eyes how the changeling had divined the nature of the water with sorcery, the sorcery of Saruman if that rumor of many was accurate. The Prince might not approve. Loniel decided that as healer to Emyn Vierald she should know so she said primly, “What must I do, Mr. Kath?”

He had a moment of pause himself. This would involve physical touch, an anathema to Elves. She was beautiful and seemed to be single as fully half of the Elves were. Even being a healer, how could someone like her not be married? How could any of them not be married?! The Prince was unclaimed. Every prince he had ever heard of could take his pick of the available womenfolk. What was wrong with this woman?! That and having the young couple squeaking the springs all night lessened his focus. 

As close to his practitioner’s demeanor as he could manage, Nag Kath said, “Nothing too intrusive. If you would untie your cuff and roll your sleeve back to your forearm …”

She chose the closest arm and offered her lovely hand. He gently took it with both of his and concentrated. Having applied a blood spell on Doronthail, he had some feel for Elvish pulse and blood flow. Nag Kath closed his eyes and imagined her nature as it should be. A soft silver glow emanated from all three hands for a few seconds until he slowly released his grip to end the spell. With a smile he said, “You show no lingering signs. I will make discreet inquiries in Pelargir as well.”

Loniel had braced herself for something much less pleasant. He sensed her resistance had eased, if only slightly. Now it was time to weave this into his general curiosity. “Mrs. Loniel, did you use any drawing spells as remedies?”

The Prince said nothing about this! Oh, she wished she knew what he approved. Something was called for so she looked in her lap and said, “I do not have those skills, Mr. Kath. Not many of us did and they are now in the Undying Lands.” She hoped he would not press. She did have small drawing powers but had not used them against Sauron’s malice. Loniel was about to put more distance between herself and her talent when she realized that this creature would know her capabilities from his sorcerous touch! Oh dear! Did he mean mischief or was he truly a healer?

This was unfair to her but he would not have a great deal of time and it was for a good cause – the last defense of the unscrupulous, “I understand. Please excuse my being so forward. I simply wondered if the Athae Áma might help others I meet.”

That was the hook. It came from Elrond’s book of cures. The Elf Lord had used it, or a variation, on Frodo years before. Countering the Morgul blade needed both physical care for the wound and relieving the horror sown with it. Neither could be completely repaired after days of festering, but they were as effective as any in Middle-earth. Moreover, it countered the poison of the Witch-King, likely the author of the current horror.

Loniel had heard of the cure but it was beyond her powers. How on earth did this creature know? Could he actually do it? That spell and others like it were of Rivendell and Lorien, places of learning and calm. She was from the Woodland Realm, a much more militant strain of firstborn. Elves were still not so harmonious that the enclaves shared all their secrets. Loniel knew the healing of her tribe but never studied with the greats.

For his part, Nag Kath knew the incantation but not the summoning. His seemingly off-the-cuff question might just break the impasse. Loniel’s curiosity got the better of her. If this creature could help her help her community, she would take the risk. It had to be done subtly. There was no telling how much the changeling knew. At it happened, he knew barely enough. He knew the wizards’ healing sorcery and witch's confusion spells; how to relieve and how to induce them.

The Quenda took a few moments to construct her response, “It might, Mr. Kath”

“Please, Nag Kath.”

She allowed herself a smile, “Nag Kath, then.” Then, as if it scarcely mattered, she played her hand, “Do you know cures of Imladris?”

“A few, though I summon them as the Istari would.” That was pure surmise. With the exception of Radagast’s pencil call, his party tricks were self-taught. It was close enough. He continued, “I used one for the ohtar I struck. Said in Quenya, ‘ ** _Bring clarity forth. Set aside distraction._** ’ The cadence must be timed to breath. My poor effort is more by feel. Please, give me your hand again.”

Loniel still hesitated but this was fascinating. He used his confusion clearing spell. With no disorder to remove, it was over in an instant but her face flushed slightly. He hoped she was not so clear-headed that she saw through his ruse. To seal the exchange he asked, “How would you summon such a drawing?”

The woman added her other hand making four and pulled the slightest power from inside her. It was of water, like his, but was not taken from the elements outside. Was Elvish recovery why Mrs. Skilleth said that cures were nothing to his kind? Yes, it must be. At some point in the lives of men they were in a constant losing battle with strength. These folk kept getting stronger. She was probably old enough that her power was restored almost instantly.

It took half a dozen tries until she was able to separate the syllables into a more rhythmic cadence. There was no color but the image of their hands together blurred slightly as she concentrated on the incantation he told her. He felt a wave of clarity, not unlike mindful rest. When she got it right, it was over in seconds.

The healer leaned back in her chair, not from fatigue but in the awe of discovery. She knew there would have been little power in her cure but it was there and could be developed in time. Now he knew where to summon the power, even if he could not replenish it as quickly. Was it from his existing resources or did they build reserves against the need? Loniel did not seem the worse for wear.

He felt a compliment was in order, “Yes, I think you have it! Perhaps that can help your folk.” More gravely, “We still have work ahead in managing that vile humor from the mountains. You will be needed. The source is found but not repaired.”

Nag Kath was ready to keep touching but Loniel rose gracefully and said, “If you will forgive me, Nag Kath, I must rest after that experience and then attend a first-time mother whose time draws near.”

He stood and bowed as she showed him the door.

______________-------______________

The next day there was no summons from the Lord. He sketched some of the unique homes and scenery and checked on a split in one of Charlo’s hooves. It would heal. In the meantime, he mapped a course to follow the river west to Pelargir. That would let him observe the effect of tainted water closer to the Anduin and he could stop by Lentaraes’. It seemed a pleasant city. He would take his leisure and then either ride north through Lossarnach or take the riverboat to Osgiliath if Charlo’s hoof needed more rest.

Nag Kath sensed it was time for a graceful exit so he asked to speak to the Lord. “With your permission, Prince Legolas, I thought to take your merchant road to Pelargir and gauge the damage of the water on men of the river.”

The Prince saw that offer the same way and said, “Yes, thank you, Nag Kath. A mannish healer is known to us in that city who may be of use. His name is Vellund Kieff. Mention us.”

“Then I will fare you well. Is there any message I can take the King?”

Legolas said, “Merely the same things you told us. I will confer with Prince Faramir shortly, anticipating, a council before long.”

Nag Kath rose and bowed. 

An Elf, burlier than usual, was hoisting crates of fruit onto a well-sprung wagon. Another Elf brought a team of horses to the traces. Nag Kath walked up to the big one and said, “Your pardon, I seek Tol Avrendi.”

“Your search is ended. How can I help?”

“I am Nag Kath and heading for Pelargir. I thought you might like company.”

“You are the fellow who went up into the mountains, yes?”

“Along with a troop of brave Quendu to steady me.”

“Aye, we leave within the hour.”

Nag Kath said, “I have to say a few goodbyes but I will have no trouble catching you if I am late.”

“Fine, we move fast though. Tables of the White City want this fresh.”


	9. Downstream

**_Chapter 9_ **

**_Downstream_ **

Nag Kath had considerably less trouble coaxing Lembas and ready food from the commons than he would have from the redoubtable Rosas. Then he said farewell to Kendar with thanks for shepherding him through Emyn Vierald. Finally he saddled Charlo and trotted back to the loading area in time to see the wagon rolling not a quarter mile ahead.

Avrendi was a different sort of Elf. Nag Kath supposed they couldn’t all be identical. Nearly as tall as Nag Kath and even broader across, he could be a teamster for any race under Arien’s sun. Avrendi wore more mannish clothes to visit the younger races. He even had the deep voice to persuade sulky horses. There were no escorts or spare driver, the advantage of not needing sleep.

As he pulled alongside, Tol Avrendi said, “Fine horse.”

“Thank you. We have traveled thousands of miles together over the years.”

“This trip will add another sixty. We will be there day after tomorrow, weather permitting.”

“By your leave, I would examine the water flowing down the Telengaur for trouble.”

“I understand, but remember this stream takes us upriver of Pelargir. This is the southernmost source to the Anduin. Every drop of rain below us makes for the Poros.”

Nag Kath said over a squeaking wheel, “I have separate errands. Wherever you go is fine.”

Like most teamsters, Avrendi spoke richly and sometimes humorously of his journeys. Nag Kath could match him for places and wonders. They got along well. The carter was just contrary enough to not be offended by the strange half-Elven tagging along.

That night brought them to the mannish crossroads coming north from the Poros River. Nag Kath remembered that delta as the last harbor upstream capable of handling deep-hulled sea vessels. Captains could and did sail further, but catching a keel on the shifting bottom was on their head.

Elves don’t camp the way men do since they only take a few hours of waking rest. They only stop when the ground is too rough to see at night and to give the horses half a night’s sleep. Nag Kath made a fire for tea to go with Lembas and as much fruit as they wanted. 

The driver was right, they made good time. Arriving well before dusk, the wagon reached a small go-down with a waiting sail/oar ferry docked at the pier. A clerk paid Avrendi, whose ears were hidden like Nag Kath's. Stevedores unloaded his crates and put three back on the wagon before the teamster went marketing for things needed back in Emyn Vierald.

Nag Kath knew there were good roads on either side of the river. Getting across was the hard part. The barge captain speculated, “We might could put-in on the north side.” A silver king confirmed that and Nag Kath was dropped just upstream of Pelargir before the craft returned to the south bank, avoiding the deep channel pouring out the Sirith. He was in the city by dinnertime.

Nag Kath followed his nose to the nicer inns. There was a festival of some sort and accommodations were tight. That was fine by him. He liked festivals and still found decent lodgings with a stable for three nights. 

Pelargir was one of the oldest Numenorean cities, constantly riven by disputes; political, economic and racial. Who ruled mattered because it was essential to commerce further upriver for both Minas Tirith and Osgiliath. Nearly a hundred thousand souls before the kin-strife, it now hosted fifteen thousand rebuilding from the war. 

The city center was nearly a perfect triangle splitting the Sirith River delta. The triangle had canals dividing the land into three arrowhead-shaped islands with an oval harbor in the middle. Two walls enclosed the outer banks which housed half the population and manufacturing businesses. 

Evidently the festival was in a different part of the city with no revelry on his block. There was a good restaurant that had fresh blue Odar kept in tanks after being caught off the Ethir Anduin delta at the sea. Pretty women winked hoping to separate him from a few coppers. A tavern further towards the docks had good ale. 

Nag Kath had only been on the north bank. That was where they docked last time and Lentaraes’ home and mill were further up the east fork of the Sirith. The next morning, not indecently early, he walked to his friend’s home. The same steward opened the door, not remembering him. The Elf said, “I am Nag Kath come to see Master Lentaraes.”

'Nag Kath' rang a bell but something was different. The man hesitated a moment then showed him to the familiar room with the two drawings just off the entryway. Ten minutes later, a very well-preserved woman in her thirties appeared and asked, “Who are you?”

Not what he expected but not offended, Nag Kath rose saying, “I am an old friend of Lentaraes. I haven’t been here in nine years ... thought I might catch him away from work.”

“Work no longer weighs on his time.”

“A life of leisure, then. I should imagine that suits him.”

“He is dead.”

Nag Kath kept his face straight. This was not a complete surprise. Miller Maedegon burned his candle at both ends. Before he could sympathize she added, “Can’t say I remember you.”

“I am Nag Kath, of Dale and Minas Tirith.”

“You are not a bill collector?”

“Just passing through Mrs. Maedegon. Please accept my condolences for your loss.”

She had to think about that for a moment then smiled, “Well, as long as you are here, can I offer you wine?” She motioned for him to sit.

“Too early for me. I could be tempted with cool tea.”

She nodded to steward Vergere who disappeared towards the kitchen. Then she sat to his left, “I am Phylless.”

“My pleasure, Phylless. When I was here last, Lentaraes was a bachelor.”

She stifled a laugh, “No, Mr. Kath. He wasn’t.” That netted her his best raised eyebrow, said to barely rank middling among free-peoples. A maid brought his mug and hot tea for her and was gone.

She continued, “We were married fifteen years ago. His eye roved. I moved back with my hard-put parents. Three years ago, the barley spirits finally did him in and I’m a widow, the only one, surprisingly. I don’t cause his family any trouble at the mill and we came to terms. And now; what of you young man?”

Two days ago he was almost an Elf. Here he was a young man again. Nag Kath pointed to his sketch of the playing girl saying, “I drew that when we were in art school.”

She had seen the picture many times but rose for a closer look. Nag Kath thought she might be ready for reading spectacles. Phylless drank it in and whispered, “That was forty years ago.”

“I take good care of myself.”

She gave him a long look as she returned to the couch. “You are not a man, then?”

“Half-Elven. I was there right after the war. Our third friend Timalen still lives at the old school and makes the most beautiful things.”

“Mr. Kath …”

“Just Nag Kath.”

“Nag Kath, I cannot say I miss my late husband, but I would be interested to learn more about him. He is a sad mystery that even his family cannot fathom. I am friend to some. Will you be in Pelargir long?”

“Several days at least, possibly more. I have nothing pressing upriver.”

“Would you come to dinner here tomorrow night? By then I can organize a friend or two who would be grateful to hear how the man who could paint the picture next to yours became as he did, that is, if it does not conjure painful associations.”

He smiled, “Not at all, dear lady. If you can find them, I might be able to explain some of his other works.”

She smiled, “Shall we say just before the seven-bell?”

______________-------______________

Back at the inn, it was time to find the healer Vellund Kieff. Healers had a guild but not a district. Midwives, herbalists and whatever else came with the designation stayed either to their islands or the two outer-circles. Mrs. Hürna had good luck here in the New Town so he asked the desk clerk and was directed ten blocks up the strand and then almost to the outer wall.

It did not take long to lose the luster of waterfront living. The healers were between squalid tenements and a lovely garden. Nag Kath was unarmed but a man who knew the town might be better protected. When he arrived he could see how Mrs. Hürna found her wares. There must be eight shops with herbs along with the usual alchemists and soothsayers, but some genuine business was done here. He stopped in several stores looking for the ingredients mentioned by Loniel, sold by skinny women. At the third shop he got both. 

The proprietress came forward and asked politely, “Is sir seeking something special?”

“Burney root and Red Colich, if you have it.”

Few asked for those. She took mental inventory, “Colich I have. Can’t help you with the burney.”

“Then just a bag of the colich. I'll need quite a bit." She went to a rack of mismatched jars and climbed a small ladder to fetch one off the top shelf. Pouring a full scoop into a woven sack, she tied the ends and returned to the counter. He asked, “Do you know Vellund Kieff? I was told he was in your city?”

“Can’t say I do, sir. That will be four groats for the colich.” 

He tried another avenue, “Are there practitioners here who can pull a delicate infection?” That was the least physically taxing sort of inductive healing so the most likely to earn a confidential referral.

She shook her head and said, “Not anymore, on this side anyhow. Old Miss Esties died three years now. Hard life; that. You might try the Quarter of the Faithful.” The woman was just naturally thin.

Before sauntering back, Nag Kath stopped at a shop with a newer sign for the Khandian treatment of soreness. Baths and houses of massage had long been in the west, with varying reputations depending on the areas massaged. But this was specifically for treating how the body was connected, a kink in the back could cause pain in the leg. Inside was a woman fitting the description with broad shoulders and powerful hands. She had no patients and seemed to work alone. He asked in Variag, “You are of the Viersh?”

Not what she expected from the mouth of pasty blonde dandies. This was her livelihood so she smiled and said in her same tongue, “I trained in Nûrad, best of sirs.”

“I never got that far, but I knew a healer of the Viersh near Lhûg.”

That was impressive. Of course, Viersh had nothing on Nûrad, but both schools insisted on the best. By Those Named, who was this creature? She asked, “Does sir need treatment?”

“No, I am fit today, but I am a great believer in your craft. If you will give me a few of your cards, I will share them with those who would benefit.”

She could do that all day long and handed him four slips of stiff paper with her business and address written both in Variag and the common-tongue. The stranger read her name only shown in script, “Thank you, Beshugya. Oh, do you know of a healer named Vellund Kieff?”

“I am sorry, best of sirs. I am new here and keep to my store.”

“Very wise. Go with the grace of Those Named.”

______________-------______________

Back at the inn he planned his search. Pelargir was a large place with few straight lines. Each of the five sections was largely self-sufficient because transporting goods involved the guilds. A tenner sliding across the desk got the undivided attention of the clerk.

“Thank you, sir. We are in the New Town, the largest district. You would have seen something of the size on your errand. The far side is perhaps half that and largely manufacturing ... breweries, livestock and trades. In the triangle, the eastern arrow is the Eärnil, seat of the Governor and the Marines.” He added more confidentially, “Also known to those who provide commerce to their Lordships.

“The northern arrow is the Ancient Market, oldest of the three and seat of most Guilds. The far arrow is the Quarter of the Faithful where are found great honors done to our heroes, but there are warehouses and ships like everywhere else.”

The Elf considered that and said, “I should like to see the better parts of all. Will that take me long?”

“On horse, no. If you walk at leisure and keep to the more orderly areas, I should think a day each, but that is only a guess.” Folk largely stayed to where they lived or worked.

If the Ancient Market was site of most guilds, including the healer’s guild, he would make that the afternoon adventure. Strolling up the lesser Sirith towards the Maedegon home he took the bridge across to the north arrow. This area was older because it was further from fire bombardment in river attacks. Wharves along the bank had the most shipbuilding and repairing of the three. Commerce was bustling. Men and women were hawking goods in several market squares as both locals and traders vied for the best price. A man was selling pretty birds in reed cages. Another had containers to fit the holds of ships. 

The Healer’s Guild was a shabby office near the northern tip of the arrow. He walked in and saw a girl folding powders into paper sleeves. She took a few moments to complete the one at hand and looked up without saying anything. Patients went to the healers directly and he wasn’t a healer so she would let him speak first. “Good afternoon. I seek Vellund Kieff. I am told he is in your city.” Nag Kath didn’t say Kieff was a healer. Someone known to the Prince of Elves might not elbow his way through this rough-and-tumble trade.

The girl had no idea. Suspicious that things would be taken if she left, she turned and shouted down a corridor. When that produced nothing, she did it again. His ears caught the familiar ‘shuuu, shuuu, tick, shuuu …’, a cane steadying dragging feet. An ancient crone with a dowager’s hump turned the corner and appraised him with piercing blue eyes. She looked at the girl and said, “Thank you, child. Off you go.” And off she went.

Shuffling from the hallway to the counter took some time and he did not rush her. After she perched herself on the same tall stool the woman asked, “How can we help you today?”

“I seek Vellund Kieff. I was hoping he might be in your fair city.”

“He is a guild member?”

The Elf smiled, “I do not know. He is a friend of a friend but in this employ at last word.”

“Hummph. We shall see.” She hauled a heavy volume from under the counter, landing it with a thump. A ribbon marked the current listings. “Hummm, I don’t see any Kieffs. There is a Kitelburn, but that is as close as I have. Vellunds … none of them either.”

She shut the book and said, “Not in the guild. There’s thems that work unofficial in the Enta Sirith on the west bank. You go there, take a bully-boy alongside.”

Nag Kath grinned, “It is of no concern. I thought I would try while I am visiting. Thank you for your efforts. Do I owe you anything for your research?” That was a polite way of saying she had earned a tip.

Taking no time to consider; “Groat a name with a two name minimum.”

He handed her a fiver. As he turned to go she called, “If this Kieff shows, who do I say is looking for him?”

“Nag Solvanth, I am staying at the Navigator.”

“Nice place.”

When the tall stranger left, the crone called her grand-daughter back in. “Child, go fetch your brother.” 

______________-------______________

She said just before the seven-bell so he was there at quarter-of. Vergere brought him into the usual room where an older couple was sitting with goblets of wine. Phylless was in the kitchen so Nag Kath introduced himself. They were Dunnus and Keldja Maedegon, he being first-cousin to the deceased. 

Phylless joined them about the time the steward brought a very full goblet of wine, said to be of Belfalas. It was excellent. Dinner was still cooking so they sat around the low table and his hostess explained, “Dun, Kel; Nag Kath was at the art school with Lentaraes many years ago. He agreed to come and tell us of the old days.”

Dun might have looked like Lentaraes in their youth. He sipped his wine sparingly, which would explain some of the differences in later life. Setting his goblet down he said slowly, “Yes, he mentioned you, many times actually. You are an immortal?”

“So far. Your cousin was the oldest of three students right after the war. He took me under his wing at the Quastille School and helped me get outfitted when I was sent to Rohan. The third of us is hale and a celebrated artist in the White City.”

Lentaraes mentioned him too. An avid reader, yes?”

“Still is. His name is Timalen Brushta.”

Keldja asked, “That is your work next to Lenta’s on the wall?”

“It is, ma’am. I was just learning. Then, as now, I often use different angles for the same subject.” They both rose and went to the two pictures, gazing for a few minutes and returning to the table.

Phylless mentioned, “I did as you asked and had Vergere find two old folios. I can’t say as I remember ever seeing them.” She opened the larger volume. It held later work and was the worse for mold so she set it aside. The smaller was in good repair and older. On top was a Lentaraes sketch of a fountain, one of his better pieces. 

Nag Kath became the narrator saying, “That is on the fourth level of the White City, just north of the prow. He did that when I was there so that was probably the latter half of his stay. Two discarded sketches later they reached a frowning young woman eating a meal she did not like. The Elf laughed and recalled, “That is one of Tim’s! He had romantic designs on her but she never smiled. Good thing. He married a lovely woman who smiles all the time.”

Two more abandoned pictures brought them to the first sketch Nag Kath drew of the royals. He tried again because he could not get Aragorn's nose right but it was not as bad as he remembered. Lentaraes was the fountain-man. Nag Kath did the faces. His description held back some secrets, “They are King Elessar and Queen Arwen the day I met her. The final work is in their quarters. It took three tries and I still have the middle one.”

Who was this fellow who never aged and drew royals? Next was a posed picture of a young woman with bare shoulders. Lentaraes said she came down here to stay, briefly. No need to mention that now, even though Phylless was not grief stricken. She said he strayed and probably had done so then as one true love replaced the last. 

Nag Kath stated, “Her name is Marletta, don’t know the last. She and three friends occasionally shared a pitcher with the art students.” He seemed lost for a moment trying to remember the other two women. Kataleese came to mind right away since she looked a lot like the Widow Maedegon with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

Everyone knew the miller’s taste in females; good when he had a choice. Dun Maedegon sat back before the portfolio was completed and said, “Thank you, Mr. Kath. I think Phyll asked us because Lentaraes was a mentor to me as well. I was three years younger, son of a younger uncle, and he was my hero.” Dun paused and then marshaled through, “He worked hard at a job he did not enjoy and fell into regret. We lost him inch-by-inch. Now I think I understand it wasn’t the demon barley. It found him because he could have done this and did not until it ate his soul. Mr. Kath, could he have been great?”

“I think so. Our teacher was a Master, taught by a Master. Without false modesty, all three of us were talented, and all at the same time. We inspired each other, made us realize that we could capture scenes that would live on. The sculptures around the aqueduct are Tim’s.” Dun said he had seen them a few years ago. “When I was here a while back I saw Lentaraes’ disappointment but came again, in hopes he would find his way. I do not regret the visit you found this worthwhile.”

The steward cleared his throat to announce the meal. Phylless rose first and said, “Thank you, now, let us talk of dreams come true!”

They did. Stories of Lentaraes surfaced, including philandering that Phylless did not mind. Nag Kath told of his short pants left by former students that never reached his feet. No one asked his origins and there was no discussion of his other gifts. 

_____________-------_____________

Not long after dark, the Maedagons were ready for bed and walked just four houses away. After bidding them a fair night, Phylless topped the goblets from a silver ewer, “Thank you again for that. Dun is a dear man and Keldja has made him a wonderful wife.” Acceptance tingeing her voice she added, “With no children from this house, Dun manages the mill now. He always did, honestly.”

He took a sip and said, “Then some good has come from all of this. But we have managed not to talk any about you.”

She got a faraway smile, “There is not much to say. I was a young bride, full of notions. We were in love and nothing was too good. After a couple years he would stay out late or not come home. When I visited my parents in Laur, sometimes other women’s underclothes were washed and folded with mine.”

She was sad but this seemed someone else’s history. “Then he brought a new girl home to stay. I went back to mother and da’s and worked in much the same business as the Maedagons’. We make yeast for the brewers across the river. I knew as soon as Lentaraes died but a few weeks later a letter arrived from the City Clerk that I was to receive something, quite a bit. His shares belonged to the family but the house and an income were mine. They were not grudged since I get along better with my in-laws than he did.”

She was unburdening. He would help. “And what do you do for the art of your life, Phylless? You must have leisure to pursue passions.”

“Oh you are a silly man! I can’t paint. I can barely sew and you want nothing to do with my cooking.”

He did not speak. It was still her turn. “Very well, I like to ride. I have a small flower garden and I play a very ladylike game of Dukks.”

“Dukks! He taught me Dukks. I was a miserable player. At first I could not understand how the combinations aligned, or why anyone would care. I confess; I am no better now.

Phylless took a sip and put her goblet on the table, “I have other passions.”

______________-------______________

When she woke well after sunup he was sitting in a dressing chair wearing just a shirt. As she yawned and stretched, his eyes blinked twice and he turned his head towards her. Phylless lifted herself against the headboard and surveyed her lover with a practiced eye. Being an attractive widow of independent means meant she could do this, occasionally and discreetly, without commitment. Sometimes that meant explaining it to men who expected to stay. Now, what of this one? What did he say; ‘nothing pressing upriver?’ Seeing him in the shirt reminded her why he was here. It was well into the morning when he promised to return and made his way back to the inn. 

Thoughts of unattainable Elf doctors replaced, Nag Kath washed in the basin and went downstairs for tea on the veranda. It was no sooner served than a young Subaltern with collar gorgets of the local marines approached him and said, “Your pardon, sir. Are you Mr. Solvanth?”

Who knew that here? The old herb woman did, but this lad was wasn’t working side-jobs for the Healer’s Guild. Very well, “I am. How can I be of service?”

The young man had the look of a Caladrion; tall, fit, promotable if he distinguished himself. He wasn’t one to hem and haw either, “A gentleman of the Gobel Eärnil would like a word at your earliest convenience, sir.”

Nag Kath knew a summons when he heard it and this seemed to intersect his search for Vellund Kieff. Legolas’ implication was that he was a healer but, like most Elvish descriptions, there was room for leeway. He replied, “I can do that. Come along.”

The Elf collected his key at the desk and the two went upstairs. The messenger seemed a bit uneasy, as if part of the errand might happen after the pretty man locked the door from the inside. The pretty man left the door ajar and opened his kit bag for a few things. Then he looked at the subaltern and pointed at his sword, “Will I need that?”

It wasn’t meant as if to ask if there was fighting to be done. Nag Kath was a Lord of Gondor, by way of Dol Amroth, which came with high military office, Dale too if anyone asked. If he was to be a soldier, it was customary to look like one. The Second Lieutenant had a marine saber on his belt. He nodded.

The lad didn’t have a horse so they left Charlo in the stable and walked across the bridge closer to the turn of the harbor where Nag Kath and Mrs. Hürna stayed nine years before. This island had stiffer walls on the outer banks sporting more turrets and wider walks. With enough arrows and ballistae, you could rain death a long way into the Anduin. They were manned with professional troops who seemed quite sober.

As they walked, Nag Kath asked in his officer’s voice, “What’s your name, soldier?” 

“Felim Houlmanath, sir.”

“Unit?”

“Mobile fourth, under Timpeled, sir.”

“What’s this about, Lieutenant?” He promoted the young man half a rank for cooperation. It failed. “I wasn’t told, sir. We are going to a public meeting place frequented by men of position.”

They crossed a large, well-maintained maidan where a small horse troop was running close-quarter drills. It would hold a lot more soldiers than Pelargir had seen in a thousand years, including the ones that weren’t supposed to be here. At this point of the arrow was the Governor’s quarters which looked very grand. It might not be so comfortable with Umbaris lobbing fireballs over the walls. The two walked across the field to a private section of shops, restaurants and inns serving the high-trade. Houlmanath looked in one, found who he expected to see and brought his guest inside. At a corner table in shadow was a middle-aged man with a mug in front of him. He waved the Elf over as the Lieutenant took his leave.

Nag Kath approached without sitting and said kindly, “Are you waiting for someone?”

The fellow drawled, “I’m always waiting for someone. Have a chair.”

Nag Kath took the only one and adjusted his sword. The man grunted, “Were you planning to use that?”

“My invitation wasn’t specific.”

“I’m Vellund Kieff. You Solvanth?”

“Better known as Nag Kath.”

“Dougsh! I thought I recognized you, not from your statue, mind!”

All tension was broken. The Elf laughed and slapped the table. That story would have to wait. “Prince Legolas said you were the man to see. I have determined the source of the poison coming down the Telengaur.” Kieff took a pull of his ale waiting for the rest. Nag Kath continued, “There is a lake in the mountains used to create the flying dragons. It still seethes with sorcery. A landslide routed most of the snow-melt into it and it pours out foul.”

That was unexpected. Kieff knew something of this creature as a builder and soldier but not as, well, whatever this signified. It called for another sip. A serving man walked over with a mug for Nag Kath. Kieff said, “Try the nuppers, little fish they catch in the rocks.” 

Nag Kath nodded to the waiter. Then he asked Kieff, “Is this the point where you tell me what you do?”

“Fair enough. I advise Governor Onathol. We’ve had some sick people, not plagued, but skittering awfully and ill at-ease. Kids and the old, mostly. Now you tell me it’s the water.” Another sip, “You know a bit about dirty water, eh?”

“Some.”

“What should we do?”

That was a fair and important question. It deserved his best answer, “The taint is coming down the Telengaur from the main supply in the Düath. Putting that to rest will take armies and years. I’m sorry but there’s nothing for it. For now, you have to keep people away from the mouth. Who commands on the south bank?”

“Faramir, but they trade here. That’s where most sickness is found.”

Nag Kath thought a moment and said, “It is diluted by the time it gets here but as you said, if hurts the weak first, both in body and in spirit. I can’t prove it but I think it is very old sorcery from the north.”

“Telling everyone to just pull-up and leave their homes will not be popular.”

“How many?”

“Six, seven hundred there. Eighteen thousand here.”

The Elf had his first sip of the ale. “Look, I can’t tell you how to manage your people, but if someone let it slip that one of the dark lord’s puddles was leaking into their river, you couldn’t get a game of dice along the Telengaur.”

“Point taken.”

The little fish arrived. Quickly fried, they were eaten bones and all. Nag Kath imagined if they were not prepared right, a man would choke like a cat throwing a fur-pellet. With the dipping sauce, they were excellent. This was more a snack than lunch for a reason. Kieff said, “I think we should talk with the guv’ner.”

______________-------______________

The soldier tossed coins on the table and they walked into bright sun. A ten minute stroll led back to the massive compound at the end of the parade grounds. Pelargir was the working capital of Lebennin. The state had five districts, largely determined by the rivers flowing either to the Anduin or the sea further west. Onathal was Governor of the whole and district Marshal for Pelargir. Nag Kath had never heard of Onathol, which meant nothing. He would have been appointed by Aragorn from local stock. In keeping with other semi-autonomous regions, the job would require competence and inside knowledge of how to keep his counties behaved. 

Sauron’s water was a drop in the bucket when the Anduin flooded in Lebennin’s south delta. Lowlands further west on both sides of the river would be covered for miles from the same snow-melt that saturated Osgiliath. Plagues started here first. Pelargir was the capital because it was the first strategic point upriver with enough grade not to flood every few years. Kieff walked to the front steps among junior officers coming and going, looking as important as they could. There were more guards than Nag Kath expected, more in keeping with kings than a provincial administrator. They reached a pair of ornate double-doors. Kieff glanced at the sword and said, “You can leave that with the sentry.”

Onathol looked more like a Northman than a Dol Amroth exquisite. Elf eyes put him at upwards of fifty, not quite old enough for the war. He was having a heated discussion at a conference table with four other men; two soldiers and two civilians. The governor did not seem pleased. Kieff and Nag Kath waited by the door. After about ten minutes, Onathol scowled their way but returned to his conversation. He did the same after another five minutes and then all stood as he dismissed the soldiers. One of the officers rolled his eyes at Kieff on the way by. 

The guv’ner stared at his next problem and demanded, “What is it?”

Kieff offered in more stately tones than over nuppers, “I bring a gentleman about water on the Ithilien side, sir.”

“What?!” The guv seemed a little hard of hearing, distracted, perhaps.

“We are here about water coming from Ithilien, sir.”

“Approach.”

The two walked to the regulation five paces and stood at something resembling attention. Onathol went back to his civilians for a while longer. While he did, Nag Kath looked at Kieff. There was nothing to tell his official function, if there was one. Kieff worked on the quiet side of rule. He was a big, if not tall man, forty-ish, with a decidedly military bearing. That was not shown by anything in his clothes. Clean and expensive, they had no markings of rank, unit or even country. Soldiers of Gondor, officers certainly, had a small white tree sewn somewhere on their tunic. Nag Kath also looked like a civilian, especially without his weapon, but learned from Shelturn to keep a variety of lapel swatches in a pocket for quick impersonations.

The governor and his assistants were wrestling with a property dispute between two land barons along the Sirni River. Against every known rule, they had both called-up their local militias to enforce grazing rights. Bloody peasants!

“Kieff, what is this about?”

“This gentleman is here about troubles with the water from Ithilien, Governor.”

Onathol looked at the Elf and said gruffly, “Are you here from Prince Faramir?”

“No, sir.”

After the two fools on the Sirni, the governor was in no mood for pretty young Dúnedains. He asked, “Then what are you to me?”

In his Elf Lord voice, “I am Lord Kath to you and I am here on the ruby pass as King’s Marshal!” He never gave it back, figuring it would come in handy for days like this. “If you want to know more, I am buying the first round at the Navigator on the six-bell.” With that he nodded to Kieff and collected his sword outside the door. It worked with Imrahil so he tried again. Nag Kath chuckled imagining Kieff’s face as the apoplectic guv’nor realized he had offended the wrong foreigner. Their error, everyone’s error, was that he didn’t need anything they had. He would risk his life for a good cause, but folk had better be polite. 

After theatrically stamping out of the mansion, Nag Kath slowed and had a better look around the grounds. Homes, buildings and fittings on this arrowhead were up-in-the-world compared to the Ancient quarter and most of the east crescent. The maidan was now empty except for a few horsemen breaking-in young mounts. 

As good as his word, Nag Kath later laid a nipper on the bar as the sixer rang and said, “Drinks for all until that runs out, less a silver for yourself, good man.” The Navigator was a nice place but not exclusive. That gold would last all night. He got an ale for himself and walked out on the veranda where this all started. Kieff was sitting in one of the chairs with curved rails underneath like Mrs. Skilleth's. Nag Kath sat in the same sort of chair next to him, lulling like a baby crib.

Kieff got a cup of wine with the Elf’s largess and took a dainty sip. Talking to the river he savored, “I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed that.”

“Me too, a touch of Catanard. Did he settle with the yokels?”

“No. But sending our troops makes things worse. My lads will bring them in by their ears in a day or two.”

Nag Kath had a long pull of the local tan and smacked his lips before saying, “I did what I came to. My only question is why did Legolas send me to find you? I was expecting a healer.”

“Like you, I am more than I appear.”

“We will leave it at that. But know this; I am a friend in need. Something tells me we will do more than irritate local grandees.”

“Then we will share wine again.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath stayed in. It was Catanard Thursday at the local taverns. In competent hands, it might be a night of beauty. Here; it was cats on a fence. With talents in alchemy, he would have turned their ale into barley spirits and sent them home by quarter-eight.

As planned, the Elf rode Charlo up to Phylless’ home after breakfast. She and her niece shared a spirited mare kept in the granary stables. The Widow Maedegon was quite fetching in her snug riding habit. Cook packed a basket of luncheon foods and two flasks. Without saying much they picked their way out the northeast gate and into the countryside. Fertile ground beneath valued farms stretched for miles around the outer wall giving way to fields and forests. Phyll knew the road and set a good pace until they reached a pretty stream off the beaten path. 

Nag Kath carried lunch while Phylless unstrapped a large blanket from the back of her saddle. The Elf explored the bag and said, “Let us see; what have we here?” As he sorted through the food, his date uncorked the smaller of the flasks and poured two small goblets of local red wine, handing him one. 

Seeing he was arranging the viands in the wrong order, Phylless took charge and started piling meats, cheeses and sauces on slices of bread. He said, “No meat for me, please.”

That meant more for her so he got the pickled cabbage. Phyll put another slice of the hearty peasant bread on the top of the stack and they started eating. Two bites later, the insides of Nag Kath’s meal squeezed into his lap. She looked over and cried, “Oh, you are hopeless. Here …” gently reconstructing it and showing him to hold it from the back. 

He looked at the stream and mused, “I have caught a lot of fish in places like this.”

She asked, “For fun?”

“Dinner. Much of my life has been spent on the road. Most roads follow streams and they provide.” He grinned, “When they want.”

The woman put her head on his shoulder. “You must have a thousand stories.” 

She had no idea of the world outside of Pelargir. He wasn’t Kath of Mordor in the granary district. There were places where he was quite famous. Where would one even start with those tales? “Well, I gave the Governor a piece of my mind yesterday. Not a mannerly fellow; the guv.”

Phylless took her head off the shoulder and looked unconvinced. “No, a rather hard man. Can’t say as I blame him. People drive him mad whining about their little problems.” What was the pretty-boy getting at? “What took you to Onathol?”

“Tidings from friends in Ithilien. It seems the timing was poor.”

She sympathized, “The man is surrounded by Princes and yet even with more land and people to mind, he is a provincial governor.”

“It seems he did not pick his parents very well.”

She seemed pleased, “I did. Ma and da are still fine, thank you very much. They want me to sell the house and move back to the west bank. I wish they would retire and come here. The Lond Iaur is a place of business and holds no attraction for me, but all their friends are there. Coming here to the gaiety of the Strand offers them less than a good game of Dukks with the Heraldas.”

“How long does it take to get there?”

“If I take Missy and scandalize the older widows I can get there in a bell. On foot; all morning.”

“How about by boat?”

“Nasty currents. You would need stout oarsmen to pull all the way to the point and then take your luck hitting the right pier on the way down.”

"Tell me about the monument in the middle of the harbor. It seems a relic of better times.”

“Between the arrows?” He nodded. “Something from Numenor. Pelargir is governed by lords of commerce now. It will take a great captain to justify rebuilding it to glory. There is good fishing around the edges, though. They are little fish that we fry and eat whole.”

“I had some before marching out of the governor’s office. Very tasty.”

She put her head back on his shoulder. There was a sense of freedom coupled with sadness that this strange creature would leave. She wished he didn’t think he had to spin these absurd yarns to impress her. In a world without magic, Phyll had not really considered that he was older than he looked. At some point she wanted a steadfast man. She did not especially want to train one though. 

Phylless pushed him down on the soft blanket. They were not here to eat.

______________-------______________

By night he explored her appetites. By day they explored the city. Unlike Osgiliath and Tharbad, more of Pelargir survived. More history was intact. Except for the rocks, reconstructed Dale was not even a hundred years old. Most days, she would walk with him. He liked the Quarter of the Faithful for all its tiny gardens and birds. He sketched her in a couple of them. Nag Kath enjoyed women at all ages but their late thirties seemed especially good. They still had their charms and passions without girlish thoughts, most of them, anyway. And they were past unrealistic expectations. 

Things got more interesting on their second trip among the Faithful. They were strolling when his head snapped to one of the temples like a flag in the wind. Nag Kath became deathly still, she thought almost like a wild animal as danger or prey approached. His face changed too with a gravity she had not seen before. Very quietly he said, “Please wait here. I will not be long.”

The Elf trotted silently over to one of the smaller row temples and crept around to the open door. This was more like a mausoleum but there was no dedication above the lintel. More interested than scared, Phylless stood as asked, seeing her lover stand across the doorway. He seemed to radiate a pale light for a few seconds and then faded. A glint of sun? Then he strolled back and they resumed their walk.

That night he was more urgent and forceful than before. She enjoyed it but knew it was related to the temple. After a while she lay across his chest and asked, “Can you tell me what happened today?”

“I will when I know. Where I can buy a hundred dried gourds ... big ones?”

______________-------______________

“Help me understand; you want me to row these across the river and dump them in the Telengaur?”

“Exactly. Half when the Evenstar sets tomorrow morning and half when it rises at dusk.

“And that’s it?”

His tall employer said, “That’s it. The gourds are in that wagon. Use the lighter-colored ones at night. Here is a silver. The second will wait for you at the inn tomorrow.” The boatman collected his son muttering the whole way that people were losing their minds.

The next day after breakfast, Nag Kath walked across the Eärnil drawbridge and laid a blanket on the rocks of the Faithful Quarter breakwater. A few hours later, he saw gourds passing by. Water from the southern rivers washed out into the channel and stayed close to the north bank, the same channel ferryman wanted to avoid fighting upstream. None of the gourds got closer than a hundred feet from the edge.

Well after dark he saw the second flotilla. They got nearer this time, two of them actually washing against the rocks. The changeling collected the one he could reach and held his knife against the side. It glowed the faintest blue. He cut off the top to fill it with river water and then sat on a public bench until dawn.

The sense of foreboding was gone from the little stone building until he sprinkled the water over the floor. Faint black and green mists swirled about the flagstones until finally joining and snaking out the door. 

Oh, Witch-King! Fish-wights weren’t good enough? Will you escape your dungeon one drop at a time? Nag Kath threw the gourd back in the river. At the governor’s mansion and said he wanted to speak with Vellund Kieff on a matter of great moment. The guard wasn’t disrespectful but he took his orders from other soldiers. This was no time to pull rank. A faint yellow beam hit him in the face as the looming apparition ordered, “You will find Kieff instantly and ask his presence at our restaurant. Do you understand?”

The sentry nodded very slowly, as if trying not to. Then he stalked off to a low building near the maidan. Nag Kath had tea and porridge as soon as the restaurant opened. Kieff came in half an hour later after convincing the soldier that he had actually obeyed orders and should resume his post with pride.

“That was quite a trick.”

“Sit down, I’ll tell you about it. What have you heard of me?”

“You’re a wizard, an orc, an Elf and a fair shot.”

“It’s all true. Have you gotten the governor’s attention yet?”

“Not really.”

“You might not.” The Elf explained; symptoms of the water, Elvish cures, temples with no inscriptions and how gourds float.

“Douuuugggsh!”

Nag Kath smirked, “That’s how I see it. Does Prince Legolas trust you for good cause?”

Kieff stiffened a little. He was a fine soldier; true and smart. His reaction said what Nag Kath needed to know. The Elf asked, “Will you do what I ask no matter how absurd it sounds?”

“As long as I do not betray my oath.”

“No risk there. I need someone to quietly buy up as much burney root and red colich leaves as they can from the herbalists. Then I need every gourd and fishing-net float you can lay your hands on, enough to fill several four-man skiffs. Last, I need to talk with the City Manager in charge of the Faithful temples along the breakwater, particularly who made them and when.”

Kieff saw nothing traitorous in that. He asked, “What about Onathol?”

“Slip a few spoons of the burney root into his tea and feed him a small handful of the colich leaves. After you clean him up, tell him everything.”

Phylless had not seen her Elf in a couple days and wondered if he flew the coop. It would have been a more amorous reunion if he hadn’t arrived smelling of rotten pumpkins. A tub of soapy water cured that but he had to wear Lentaraes’ clothes, mortifying the household staff while they pummeled his togs into freshness. 

Back at the governor’s mansion, a much different conversation ensued; “You want me to drink root tea and eat kokis leaves?”

“Red Colish.”

“Why?”

“To purge sorcerous waters from your body, sir.”

“And this from that delicate flower you dragged in here the other day?”

“Kath of the Water and Mordor. He is the delicate flower who spitted Frûnzar. King Elessar sent him on this errand personally.”

The governor was a brave man and he trusted his King. “What will this medicine do to me?”

“Cleansing, I believe, sir.”

He got that right. That afternoon Kieff was summoned before his Lord who demanded, “Explain why I should not have you staked to a honey tree!”

This was expected. Kieff cleared his throat and said, “Sir, can you remember needing to speak to the Tanners Guild tomorrow?”

“Of course!”

“Could you remember that this morning?”

The governor walked over to his favorite chair and collapsed with his feet sprawled out wide. He looked to his tough advisor and shook his head, “Let’s have it.”

_____________-------_____________

After his bath, Nag Kath’s day went much better than the governor’s. Phyll put her head on his chest and said, “Pumpkins?”

“Those and gourds and whatever else I could find that floats with the current.”

“Why? I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but why?”

“Do you want the long story or the short?”

“The long. I need to regain my strength.”

He told her of being a sorcerous demon who could divine dark magic. Black humors were flowing from dead servants of Sauron and poisoning the water along the edges of the triangle. He would try to find what was drawing it here and probably lead an army against the orcs of Angmar, in that order.

If that didn’t get him kicked out of the house, nothing would. It nearly did. She thought he was being absurd to avoid something less flattering, but it did give her time to recover her strength.

In the same position an hour later she declared, “As dire as your news is, I have some of my own. It is my thirty-eighth birthday next week. Every year, my parents come over to visit along with friends from the west bank. It is a gay time and I see folk I love. If you aren’t fighting orcs, I would be honored if you were here.”

He looked at her and replied, “Lovely. What day?”

That was much too easy, “Wednesday, the twenty-eighth. All of the preparations are made.”

“I will need a good tailor.”

She looked tenderly into his face. “You will come? Thank you.” They dressed and went downstairs. Her servants were used to the occasional man hurrying out the back door before sunrise, women in the master’s day. This fellow … this fellow was different. They could see the attraction. Phylless was still a beauty and dare they admit it, her well-being didn’t depend on making Lentaraes happy. Come to that; neither did theirs, so they would thank their lucky stars. 

The Elf went back to the inn and paid for another week but brought most of his things and Charlo to the granary. He told her it was a matter of state business and the mill workers could make what they wanted of it. She was writing follow-up invitations with secret notes about what presents were needed for the other guests, a bit like Hobbits; Pelargir birthday parties.

For no particular reason he looked at her list and his blood froze. Fourth from the bottom was the last name Dystran. He had mercifully forgotten. Flor was back in the White City but Helien was buried somewhere here with her blood father. He felt he could regain a piece of his soul if he could pray her peace. 

“Phyll, can I tell you a sad story?” She listened quietly, one time fighting back a tear. Phylless only met the cousin a few times and not his stolen woman or child, but Glendis would know all of it. Yante and Glendis were the bedrock of their family, just as Dun and Kjelda were for the Maedegon mill. She would know where the child lay if anyone did, though it might rip her heart out to say.

This had to be handled before the party. The next morning Phylless walked three blocks to the Dystran mongery. A comfortable house was nestled behind it. Glendis answered the door herself and invited her old friend inside. Glendis comforted Phyll rather than the other way and explained where the father should go. Come the party; Phyll should not give it another thought.

Nag Kath rode out the old north gate to the vast cemetery serving most of Pelargir. Directions were a jumble of zigs and zags. Two of the graveyard lanes had the same name but he finally found the unmarked plot among family stones. One stone was fairly new. 

The weight of what a man cannot do fell from the heavens. Helien deserved so much better, so much better from everyone in her little life. A horrible combination of fear, longing, obsession and hubris brought them here to this desolation. He sat. He wept. He wondered if he would ever lose the guilt. Then he decided he mustn’t. This should not be forgotten. Forgiven maybe, but never forgotten. 

He got back to Phylless' house at twilight, hitching Charlo out front. After Effiel let him in, he gave Phyll a kiss on her forehead and said, “I do not think I will be good company tonight. It is likely someone from the city office will want a word tomorrow at the inn. I just came by to tell you how brave you were. I will honor that as long as I live. Expect me in a couple of days or I will send word.”

She waved goodbye wondering if she would see him again.


	10. Builders of Craft

**_Chapter 10_ **

**_Builders of Craft_ **

The next morning, a runner said the city man would meet Nag Kath at the temple on the twelve-bell. He got there early and watched the water lap against the break-wall. Ellerd Fondiscar arrived early too. He was told this was important. The Elf walked up to him outside the door and introduced himself.

“Ah, good afternoon, Lord Kath. I hope I am the right man but my instructions were a bit vague.”

Nag Kath said, “Come; let us sit here.” They made their way to a bench across the road with good shade. “I want to know everything I can about who ordered, designed and built this temple, the one with no inscriptions.”

Fondiscar was not yet curious why. People often wanted to know how a building was made so they could make one themselves. He cudgeled his brain and said, “You may be in luck. Houses and stores are built on private land. Sometimes folk keep the plans but it is nothing to the city as long as it doesn’t fall down on someone else’s property. Buildings on King’s Land are documented for posterity. This temple is not so old. Many records survive. Is there anything we need to do here before finding them?”

There wasn’t so the two waited for the Eärnil drawbridge barge to close and found the hall of records alongside the parade grounds. The documents were probably saved from the numerous attacks here because they were in a building that must have been a fortress at one point. Archives could have been burned by any of the invaders over the years but no one bothered. 

Unless you were higher up, only trained staff was allowed into the archives. Important papers had disappeared. Fondiscar must be fairly senior because the scribes and archivists were happy to please. He told one what he wanted and the man took a lantern back into the catacombs.

The city man and Elf waited quietly at a small table while the archivist returned with a lidded wooden box. He set it in front of Fondiscar, bowed and returned to the desk. The city manager opened it observing, “Hmmmm, this seems rather complete.” He leafed through several sheets and continued, “The building was commissioned in 1377 in memory of family members lost to the plague the year before. The name of the man was, no that’s not it, yes, here … a Mr. Yvsuldor ...”

“ **Bastards!** ”

Well I never! Fondiscar was mildly offended. Normally they would not even speak in this area but they were alone and the tall man was to be treated like royalty. The governor’s language was worse so Fondiscar soldiered on, “Now here is where the extra documents come in. Hmmmm, this Yvsuldor insisted on using his own materials and laborers. We know because he had to pay the guild penalty taxes for not using their workmen.”

It was time for the blonde man to say his own, “Hmmmm. Were the materials brought here from somewhere else?”

Fondiscar said, “It does not say. A closer examination of the stone should tell us though.”

“Good. I will need to have an expert mason join me there to investigate. Can you arrange that?”

"Certainly." Old Nagsram at the Engineering office was sure to know them all. Fondiscar nodded and made a note in his day-book. The stranger then asked, “Two more questions; one, does the record say who designed this structure and two; are there any other names mentioned in those sheets? Oh, sorry, three; is there any mention of how it was paid for?”

The Works Manager held his chin, “Hmmmm, no to the first, no to the third. There is this sketch of the floor slates but no name.” 

Nag Kath did not notice the pattern of the flooring stones when he poured the water on them. He thought while the works manager sat patiently, finally saying, “Mr. Fondiscar, it is very important that you do not tell anyone about this and if anyone at all should ask questions about that building, you are to tell Mr. Kieff at any hour of the day. Can you accept those terms?”

“I can, sir.” As cover, the city man waved the archivist over and said rather more loudly than his first request, “Forgive me. I gave you the wrong address. Can you fetch the records for number six on the same avenue, please?” The man nodded and removed the box, bringing another within minutes. They made a show of examining the ‘correct’ file and thanked the clerk for his indulgence.

Nag Kath stood, “I appreciate your help. Do you have any idea what a burney plant is?” Fondiscar shook his head as they strolled to the Engineering Building. It was another stout, former armory. Nagsram was abed with a recurring complaint. His assistant knew several masons expert in local stones used long ago. The closest was only two blocks away. Mr. Beddle wrote an address on a slip of paper, and no, he had never heard of burney plants either. Fondiscar said the dignitary could contact him anytime and went back to his duties. 

Nag Kath found the mason’s works by the sound before he read the number. Mr. Jool was a small man who developed powerful muscles hoisting large rocks where nature did not intend them. Pushing fifty, he was not inclined to give free advice to just anyone wandering by. The dented silver face of King Narmacil II changed his tune. Nag Kath told him to bring a hand sledge.

By mid-afternoon, the little walkways of the temple district had more strollers as workers completed their day. Arriving at the structure, Nag Kath asked, “Can you tell me where that stone is from?”

Jool looked closely for seams or minerals that might give a hint. “Not really. It is almost too pure to say it is from a known quarry. Someone spent bright coin for this. I have always thought it was well built.”

The Elf said, “I would like you to knock a chunk from a likely stone and see if it tells more.”

Jool stared at him. This was an historic, sacred building. He had no compunction about sacred but there were laws against defacing public works. A silver memento of the good Steward Orodreth said otherwise. Jools chose a block with an exposed corner and hit it solidly with the pick-end of his tool. The practiced blow knocked a two-inch corner off cleanly. The mason picked it up and walked outside in the light. Shaking his head he said, “It is not from here or any of the quarries nearby.”

“Mr. Fondiscar said it was nearly two thousand years old.”

“Same quarries, same rocks. They never go stale.”

The tall man took the broken corner to examine and said, “Thank you, Mr. Jool. I may need you again. No need to mention this little, uhm, accident, is there?”

“What accident, sir?” 

As the mason turned to go, his customer asked, “Are you also in the business of funeral markers, Mr. Jool?”

“We do that.” The blonde wrote out a note for a slate sized yea-by-so. Jool looked at the script and said, “Sorry, I don’t speak this language.”

“Just copy it as I have drawn.” Two more kingly tokens found a new pocket.

______________-------______________

The Elf walked back to the Governor’s home and told the same guard he had stunned the previous day that he was expected. The guard remembered nothing of it but was told this morning the tall blonde was to be escorted to the ministry offices at once.

Kieff was the local Rosscranith, floating between the courtly and the practical, otherwise he would have never gotten his Lord to take the purge. Kieff’s assistant took him back to Onathal’s office where the governor, Kieff and different soldiers and civilians were seated at the table, more calmly this time. Nag Kath approached and bowed. The governor waved him to a chair across from Kieff and said, “Haven’t felt so empty in years!”

“A healing gift from the Elves, sir.”

“So it would seem. I would like your version of what is occurring, young man.”

“In base terms; a fell manufactory of Sauron’s was flooded in a landslide and now taints the main stream into the Telengaur. By accounts, that happened last spring. You have seen the wasting along those shores. The current of the Anduin brings that water against the outer edges of your two arrows. I think it may be called here by foul craft.”

One of the civilians asked, “Can you explain that craft, Lord Kath?”

“Forgive me, my inquiries continue, but there is a small temple in the row nearest the break-water that was built some eighteen hundred years ago. I believe it was formed with materials brought from Mordor.”

He let that sink in a minute. “I had a mason chip a piece off this morning.” He opened his knife and passed the blade over the stone. It glowed the faintest blue. By now they all knew this Kath fellow had tricks he hadn’t shown, hopefully would not show. He folded the knife and said, “I think that temple is drawing the tainted water to this side of the Anduin since it is more potent here than upriver. 

“I also believe those floor stones are arranged in a pattern. My project for the next few days will be divining their meaning. Then, sirs, every one of those blocks needs to find the bottom of the sea, may the Sea-Lord Ulmo forgive us.”

The other civilian asked, “And what of all the gourds?”

“Dump them at the river mouth over the next few months to see where that water flows strongest. If possible, drinking water for the city should come from the Sirith. It may take some years to destroy the tainted source. Mr. Kieff, did you discover what burney root is?”

The governor groused, “We bloody well discovered what it does!”

Kieff removed all possible humor from his voice, “Locally it is called bendun ... stinging nettles used as tea to soothe the nerves of women at the end of their child-bearing years.”

Nag Kath looked around the table and said to all, “Then I respectfully suggest that you grow as much bendun and red colich as you can in every window-box, garden and spare field. The effects will not be so … immediate … if taken in small amounts routinely.”

Governor Onathal assumed his diplomatic role, “Have our friends in Ithilien been told this?”

“They know of the water and the effects but we just learned of the temple. I will return to Gondor shortly and tell my tale there too, sir.”

The Governor said in lordly tones, “Then all that remains is to thank you for your toil on behalf of my citizens and others of this realm. If we do not see each other again before you leave, please give their Highnesses our best, Lord Kath.”

Kieff walked him out of the room. As they shook hands, the Elf said, “I am staying with the widow of an old friend. She is hosting her birthday party on Wednesday. I do not think she would mind if I invite a guest, and Mrs. Kieff if you have one. Number 315, Avenue of the Magil. I will be at the temple tomorrow if you need me.”

Nag Kath collected Charlo at the inn and slowly walked him up the strand to the industrial sector at the north of the eastern circle. Rhythmic clopping of hooves helped him concentrate. A farmer once told him that spinning maple pods mostly set root the same season but a few would lay dormant for years. The man thought against a terrible flood or blight, the tardy seeds might wake after danger. Was this temple a late seed? Some thought that of Nag Kath.

Mr. Yvsuldor! Not original; those servants of darkness. If there were more buildings, they probably looked the same. Back to the Witch-King, always back to him, was he the original Mr. Yvsuldor? He might even be the Dark Lord the men of Mordor thought was Sauron. Wraiths did not explain themselves. But the Witch-King commanded the servants. When the Elf returned to Gondor he would beetle in the archives.

Phylless was pleased to see him. Letting him choose his time of unburdening she simply said, “Come inside. Wine?”

“Just cool tea, thank you.” He grinned, “And perhaps another bath.”

He said little at dinner and she did not ask. That night, he was gentle. She liked that too. How could one man be so different? In her selective experience, men did not vary their preferences. Afterwards he said, “I took the liberty of inviting another guest to your party, a Mr. Kieff.”

“Kieff?!”

“You know him?”

“Of him. You move in higher circles than the grain trade.”

“Then you will be pleased to know I patched things up with the governor.”

Fascinated; Phylless teased, “Then I suppose you must go visit the King.”

One of Nag Kath’s blind spots had always been gentle taunting by the gentle sex. Unfazed he answered, “He will be expecting me, and I have fresh tidings.” Trailing off; “Perhaps I can catch him in Lossarnach.”

A younger Phylless would have scoffed. This Phylless had other interests.

______________-------______________

After breakfast Nag Kath rode Charlo to the temple. When he got there, Kieff and Subaltern Houlmanath were waiting, dressed as city workmen. An assortment of picks and pry-bars lay outside the door.

“Good morning, gentlemen. You may be a bit ahead of me. I need to sketch all of this exactly as it sits and do some calculations. Lieutenant Houlmanath, I don’t suppose you brought a bubble-level?”

“Must have slipped my mind, sir.”

“Could you have a look?”

“Aye, sir.” He was off, but not all the way back to headquarters. Each arrowhead had its own surveyors, as required by the guild. He would borrow a level only a few blocks away. Nag Kath sat on the bench across the entrance and started drawing the structure, extending the lines from all four corners. Before he finished he flipped to a new page and drew the shape as if seen by a bird. That done, he and Kieff measured the outside walls. 

Houlmanath came back with a level like the long-range models Nag Kath’s lads used for water. He lined it parallel to the sides and later the front and back, then measured the distances of the extensions. The structure was slightly out of square. To do that the builder was either incompetent or very good. He suspected the latter. The shape must matter. The soldiers measured all of the other exterior dimensions while the Elf went inside to draw the floor-stones. 

There was unknown craft here too. After eight years of watching every size stone moveable by man and beast, he had a good feel for masonry. The center of the floor had a finely bordered circle about twelve feet across, but the mosaic itself was a jumble of broken pieces, placed poorly. There was no sense to the flow, not yet. Houlmanath ‘borrowed’ two street lamps so the men could see inside the single room. They searched every inch for writing but found none. 

Houlmanath nearly got as good a purge as the governor when the island works manager stormed in and barked, “No one told me about this!”

Workman Kieff looked unconcerned and replied, “Special job for Mr. Jaoubert.”

The city man recognized Kieff, looked around the inside by lamplight and knowingly said, “I’ll keep my lads away. Enjoy the day?”

“Mebbe two.”

They were done inside except Nag Kath found no sense to the floor pattern. He sketched each interior floor slate in gray to see if that helped discern a flow examined in better light. He crossed his eyes to see if clarity hid decoys. The men did the same. No one made anything of it so Nag Kath climbed on the roof while Houlmanath walked to the restaurant for nuppers, bread and cheese. Nag Kath asked him to bring the mason back with him. 

That did not take long and the four sat down at a nearby table. Kieff brought a large jug of cool tea made, he promised, from Sirith water. The Elf started and the two soldiers would follow his lead. “Tell me, Master Jool, you said that building was well made. How so?”

The stone-wright took a pull of the tea and replied, “The way the blocks are joined. There are no gaps. They were smoothed on all sides before ever they were stacked. That is still done but it raises the price.”

Kieff followed the thread, “Could such stones be prepared elsewhere and brought here knowing they would fit?”

“Certainly. That is how most do it, just not this well. It is much easier to surface stone in the shop at the right height than work it uncomfortably in the rain. The barge brings it close and wagons do the rest.” He chuckled, “My guild would not care for that.”

Nag Kath had given Houlmanath a topic to broach; “Sir, the floor seems of poorer craft than the walls.”

The mason shrugged and chewed, “I wondered about that. Maybe they used all their groats and had to make do, lots of little bits or leftovers from other projects?”

Nag Kath thanked him for coming. Jool took a handful of nuppers to eat on the way back to his shop leaving the government men contemplating the afternoon. The Elf rose and sighed, “We had better take a look under that floor.”

Houlmanath was ready to have at the slates with a vengeance. Kieff grabbed the handle of his pick-bar and said, “Steady as she goes.” More gently, the young man stabbed the grout holding the center stone and then slid the flat underneath to pry the edge. Kieff used a pick to pull it up from the other side.

By lamp and sunlight they saw a host of fist-sized spiders furiously squealing and shrinking into the dark ooze. It smelled like old death. All three stumbled outside. Nag Kath sucked tea into his nose and mouth and blew it out before holding his breath to replace the stone.

A minute later they were sitting back at the table. The Elf was trying to get the sting out of his nostrils when he asked, “Does the soil of the Faithful usually stink like that?”

Kieff hacked then chuckled, “How dare you impugn our fair city? Lieutenant, challenge him to a duel!” 

Houlmanath was still rubbing his eyes and scraping his tongue against his teeth. He managed, “Not our finest temple, is it?”

Nag Kath said thoughtfully, “Not a temple, a grave.” 

Appetites gone, they left the nuppers for the seagulls. There wasn’t much anyone could do without considerable thought. Men with strong stomachs might be able to destroy the building but the very stones were tainted. Who knew what was underneath and what they were waiting for? The short-term plan of minding drinking water and cleansing was good advice anywhere. Kieff put a few upright citizens at nearby business on the payroll reporting who visited regularly. Nag Kath had what he needed for the King and would see Kieff at the party.

______________-------______________

After reeking of pumpkin the last time, the Elf went back to the inn for a double bath before presenting himself at the Maedegon home. He never did get new clothes but still had an extra set rolled tightly in the bag that could be smoothed in time for Phylless’ thirty-eighth. 

She curled next to him on the couch and asked, “Can you tell me now?”

Nag Kath looked in her eyes and said, “Yes, and excuse me for being so distracted. There is an old poison from the fell lands that is leaking into one of the rivers in Ithilien. Some of it makes its way here and folk have fallen ill, not deathly, mind, but off their feed and slow of wit. The government has been very capable and they will try to get people to use Sirith water until the mountains can be cleansed.”

In his same believable tone he added, “I would ask you to keep that between us. Distress only makes it worse. Folk will get through this.”

She asked softly, “I meant the little girl.”

With difficulty, “I am having a marker made for her resting place. It is more for me than her, poor thing. Her ninth birthday would be in June.” Nag Kath was still for the longest time but then he brightened, “Now, we have three days before your celebration. I am at liberty. What shall we do to pass the time?”

The next night they saw a melodrama, a bit like Catanard with less singing. The main players were the usual dastardly male villain, beautiful but witless lass, even dimmer hayseed suitor and a female troublemaker who got all of the funny lines. The actors were local amateurs. Most people in the audience knew them and sang the familiar songs. One poor man who had not seen parody before stood and shouted, “Do not take his word, for he is a scoundrel!” Nearby patrons assured him this was not actually happening. He took it well and would buy the first round at the Tall and Wide after the evil-doers were shown the error of their ways.

When he and Phylless weren’t together, Nag Kath scoured the bookstores. A lot of written lore passed through Pelargir over the last four thousand years. Given the financial insecurity of travel, some documents were traded for coppers along the way. And the city did not have a vibrant scholars’ guild to make sense of them. He wasn’t sure he could either but there might be pearls among the dross.

Shops of the three triangles were routine and expensive. Shops of the eastern circle had been picked-through by the vendors of the triangles. But in the workingman’s western side of the city, shops were not so neatly specialized, or even identified. Some places sold anything they thought they would bring a groat. Many owners did not even read. Nag Kath developed a pattern of walking in, asking if they had books and staying or leaving depending on the answer. He could tell by the paper when books were written and by whom.

On the day of the party, the royal cards fell in order. A shop that must have been a warehouse had the sort of owner who was sure everything he offered was made of Florins. Nag Kath thought he must own the building because there was no possibility of him paying rent and never selling anything. The Elf poked his head in the door and asked, “Do you carry books?”

The old boy shouted, “Of course we have books. Big ones, small ones, all kinds!”

Walking in he realized he had the only eyes in the city capable of reading big or small books inside the windowless hall. With the same bonhomie he rejoined, “Then let us see them!”

The proprietor was within ten years on the wrong side of a hard fifty. He was putting some of his stronger wares near the door and wandered up looking for something in the pockets of his apron. It wasn’t there so he used his hand to arrange his hair and then said, “Books? I know we have some, or we did …” a hand to the chin brought no clarity. “I could make you a very good price on several bolts of linen!”

“Perhaps another time, good sir.”

“Books? Books! We have all manner of books. Let me see …” The man scuttled down the darkest corridor in the building and shouted out, “Here we go … no, don’t suppose you need a Gondoran tent? It was never used in the war!”

It was nearing the three-bell and time to get clean for Phylless’ celebration. He had no sense that this fellow had or could find anything written but this was the last shop on the block so he gave him the benefit of the doubt. The shopkeeper tripped over a crate over with a muffled ‘dougsh’ and then called, “How about these?”

Nag Kath walked back and looked at several bound volumes in both Sindarin and Quenya, not much the worse for wear either. They were mixed in with an assortment of papers, other books in Westron and who knew what else in the near blackness. The crate itself measured about sixteen inches square and was a third full. The Elf looked at it and asked, “How much?”

“How much for what?”

“The books.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

The man adopted his horse-trading approach and said thoughtfully, “Well, I have to take them out and see. Some of these are very valuable; you know … yes, I have refused high offers from many for such treasures!”

Nag Kath knew the game. He really didn’t care what they cost but the man had to tell him the opening price. He did some chin-holding of his own and said, “Why don’t you take a look? If my boat is delayed, I can come back on Friday and you can tell me what you decide.”

Paying no attention, “That’s right, high demand for such things among the lordly in Eärnil! Someone might snatch it from right under your nose.”

It was time to go. Nag Kath figured there were ten or twelve books in the box, imagining the proprietor thought the same. He said, “It is hard to see in here but what do you have, twenty books in there? At eight groats each that’s three silvers. Let’s call it two.”

“Two! Impossible!”

The unconvinced shopper observed, “Most of them are written in a foreign tongue.”

“Someone will read ‘em.”

“Then let us take them into the light and count them out at ten groats each.”

The shopkeeper would lose on that proposal. He said, “I can’t take less than three.”

The Elf countered, “Two it is. Can you put the top back on for me?” And hide how many books the simpleton had actually purchased? Sure, he could slide the top back in the groove.

The hoodwinked customer counted out two silvers, and not a groat less, dropping them into the waiting palm. The fellow counted the coins twice but did not bite them. Then he smiled and said, “How are you set for linen?” After setting an undignified pace through the Ancient Market and across the bridge to his inn, the Elf changed into the last of his clean clothes and was only slightly late to the gala.

______________-------______________

Like Nag Kath did on Syndolan, Phylless hired an organizer. Two of her three interior servants were older than her parents. It was better to hold someone else responsible for broken plates. He came inside with a couple who smelled of the leather trade and used his height to find his hostess. She saw him first and came over to gently take his hand in welcome before veering to untangle poor Mrs. Emerlawn’s scarf from the foot of her chair. 

Lentaraes left her a grand house but it was better suited for intimate gatherings; few large rooms near the front and the kitchen in the far back. No matter; people were talking, drinking quite moderately and seemed to know each other. Folk smiled at him and he kept repeating this was such a lovely gathering until rescued by Phyll. She led him to an older couple who looked like her, “Mother, father, this is Nag Kath who knew Lentaraes.”

The sharp-eyed yeast millers both smiled and mother said, “It is good to meet you, young man. Are you enjoying Pelargir?”

“I am, ma’am (he never asked Phylless’ maiden name). I had business in the government block and the good fortune to meet your daughter.”

Da said, “Are you here by ferry?”

“No, sir. I rode from Ithilien and will return to Minas Tirith from here.”

“Good lad! You need some ale.”

The Elf was handed a mug at the beverage table and when he returned, her folks were talking with old friends not seen since last year. Phyll took him firmly by the elbow towards people her own age saying, “You handled that well. They are very protective of their little girl.” Nag Kath wasn’t sure how ardent she would be tonight with her parents two doors down the hall but he could be very patient. 

There was a lull in the conversation when Vellund and Mrs. Kieff handed their hats to the hired doorman. Folk thought they knew who he was and that was confirmed when he clasped Mr. Rothelburn on the shoulder in fellowship. His pallid missus wasn’t so sure about all of this. Like many of the city quality, she had been drinking Anduin water for the last year. He wondered if this was the after-effect of a heaping dose of burney.

Phylless was prepared to discount her lover’s fanciful imaginings in exchange for his physical charms so actually seeing one of his boasts come true was a bit of a shock. Most men who had done a fraction of what he claimed would lord it over the commoners. The couple made their way across the room to shake hands with the Elf who said, “Good evening, you must be Mrs. Kieff.”

She was trained to respond correctly. With effort, “Yes, I am.” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Kieff, may I present your hostess, Mrs. Phylless Maedegon?”

Kieff bowed and said he was honored. Phyll took him by the arm with the missus following to the counter and found them two cups of a fine Lebennin wine. That was his preferred drink and he had a quiet hand in its popularity. With the Umbar brigands whipped, their local vintage was making a dent in the Dorwinion market upriver. Phylless lived well up the Sirith, but if the silly Elfling had actually told truth about Eärnil grandees drinking polluted Anduin water and this poor woman among the first to purge, their hostess could sympathize. “Mrs. Kieff, can I interest you in cook’s lovely leavened crackers?” They were as bland as oatmeal; just the thing to calm a roiling stomach. The woman took several.

Kieff looked at him and said gleefully, “You need to change your name back to Solvanth for a couple weeks until order is restored.”

They clicked glasses and both said, “To health.”

Another of Kieff’s acquaintances stole them away leaving Nag Kath and Phylless alone until Mrs. Dystran approached, smiling but cautious. Her husband was only a few seconds behind. Their first impression of the towering blonde was a drunken description by Yante’s cousin of being sorcerously dragged across a restaurant and choked near death. This one was a strapping lad but did not seem murderous.

Phylless had prepared for this moment, “Yante, Glendis, please meet Nag Kath who is visiting from the White City.” All shook or bowed according to sex and custom. They both remembered Florice, the stunning, miserable woman whose baby died shortly after she arrived, how she would walk the strand crying and talking to herself. They remembered Irvien, drunk as a pirate, eager to win his next fight after being humiliated by Flor’s seedless husband. 

And now here he was. Yante and Glendis also knew something of Phyll’s tastes and realized that if this creature had not fathered a babe, it was not for lack of effort. Yante said, “Welcome to Pelargir, Mr. Kath. I am sorry your visit could not be without sorrow.”

“Thank you, sir. I took the liberty of having a stone carved for Helien’s resting place. I hope you do not mind.” They hadn't thought of that and had no trouble believing Irvien hadn't either. 

Glendis said, “Thank you, Mr. Kath. It was a time of upset.”

Mr. Kath smiled, “Please, this is a time to celebrate our Phylless’ birth. Let us continue in that spirit. Now, as I understand it, you trade in …?” All four of them thought that well handled.

No one was completely sure of the tall man and glamorous widow’s relationship but guesses were close to the mark. Her parents had a splendid time seeing many of the same people they saw on their side of the river and retired early. The Kieffs weren't far behind them, she the worse for wear. Collecting his hat he said to the Elf, “Lord Kath, might be a good idea for you to stop by the guv’s before you see the King. Fondiscar did a little digging of his own.”

Kieff gave him a wink and a bow to his radiant hostess before escorting his wife out the door. He was here to deliver that message and she was here because he was here. A brave woman. Phyll just stared at her lover. Lord? The governor? The King?! All those laughable yarns about cursed water and pumpkins?! 

Her parents were sound sleepers and didn’t hear a thing.


	11. Clues of Memory

**_Chapter 11_ **

**_Clues of Memory_ **

Kieff, Fondiscar and Onathal were sitting around the governor’s desk when the Elf arrived at the official start of the government day. He joined them without the usual bowing and protocol. Onathal was spryer than last he saw him and nodded to the city works manager who started, “Mr. Kath, I went back to the Hall of Records to see if I could find anything else commissioned by your Mr. Yvsuldor at about the same time.” He smiled, “Put the archivists to work. They are still at it.”

Fondiscar took a sip of tea, which reminded the governor his guest had not been served so he poured a mug and slid it across the desk. After a sip of his own, the manager continued, “Several gourds washed up here on Eärnil, straight across from the main well. They would have fought the current to work across the river.”

It seemed Nag Kath’s sigh took an eternity. The Elf leaned back in his chair looking at the ceiling before gathering himself and saying, “Mr. Fondiscar, you are the very best servant of your people. Let us see your well …” quietly, “privately.”

All four of them went along with two hulking guards. People lined-up with water buckets made room but most stayed to see the august company. The winch-horse was stopped as the Elf walked up to the trough. Civilians were asked to leave. Nag Kath did not often use sorcery in common view but he made an exception here. The knife showed blue. No one left expected him to dump the bucket over his head. He raised his hand to the sky and gradually glowed with a silver haze from fingers to toes. Water soaking him evaporated into steam with a sickly green vapor swirling about his chest and flowing from his arm into the ether. 

The effect ended and he knelt on one knee where he stood in the little puddle, staying there for fully a minute with his head down, eyes closed. With the bodyguards gaping, Nag Kath rose normally and smiled wanly to the lordly host saying, “We should repair to your office governor." He looked at the guards with his Elf-Lord face and put his finger alongside his nose.

On their way in, the Elf asked for a pitcher of tea, knowing it had been brewed with Sirith water. He drank half of it in a swig, swishing it in his teeth several times. Then he folded in the same chair he had earlier and looked at the eyes looking at him. Speaking to no one in particular he started, “Gentlemen, this was not supposed to be common knowledge but you deserve to know. I was in Mordor a few years ago to destroy a warlord bearing a ring of power.” By now some of them knew. “This warlord was the chosen of a much older group, the descendants of Sauron’s higher servants, led by the Witch-King. They called themselves the Yvsuldor in the dark days.” He smiled grimly, “It seems they have a taste for nuppers.

“They are all dead now, but the Elves believe there is a source of power waiting for direction, holding the near-dead in thrall. We see it in the marches, Dunland, the Barrows, probably others, men and monsters that will not die. Your water is tainted by a pit used to make the fell-beasts. It might have never been found except the top of a mountain collapsed and now the river washes through it.”

Nag Kath swallowed another slug of tea and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I believe that foul water is drawn to your harbor by whatever was, or is, under that temple. Mr. Fondiscar, please keep looking for more of them, and I need to see every scrap of paper in those files again. I do not know if I have the power to defeat what may be found. Elves and wizards capable of such feats are long gone. And if I can, wide berth will be needed for brave men to bear it away. I know not where.”

The governor listened carefully and decided, “First things first.” He called to a guard, “Send in Scribe Waltath.” The scribe, one of the civilians here the first time Nag Kath came, was waiting in the hall and bustled over to take notes. Onathal continued, “That main well is condemned. I want all available workmen to bring in water from the greater Sirith channel for the southern arrows as far up as they can get it. All public events on Eärnil and Faithful are to be moved to suitable facilities elsewhere. Folk with complaints of the type we know are to be treated with such supply of those herbs as we can manage. Ask the healers if others remedies will serve.”

The governor took a big gulp himself. “Lord Kath, can you stay?”

“I think I should, sir. But I need to send a long letter to his Highness by fast rider. Mr. Kieff, can you detach Lieutenant Houlmanath as my aide and find us quarters here on this island with a meeting room?” Kieff nodded. “Governor Onathal, I am at your command. I will make sure you are notified of my progress at your convenience.”

The governor held his chin and finished, “There will be no containing this. I would rather look busy than stupid. Mr. Kieff, devise how to salve the worries of our people without them deserting their homes and farms.”

“Yes, governor.”

“That is all for now.”

As Nag Kath and Kieff were leaving the soldier said, “Oh, nice party. Our hostess was lovely.” Not all ‘old friend’s widows’ were so comely. 

Houlmanath’s first assignment was to find clothes in Nag Kath’s size. After pumpkins, undead vapors and Sauron’s water, the bulk of his wardrobe should be burned. He had one last pair of underwear at the inn and he changed before checking out and reporting to his new quarters. 

There was tension in the street. People sensed something was wrong. It wasn’t actually worse than it had been for a year but some knowledge was more dangerous than none. Nag Kath and his aide went back to the temple. It had already been blocked-off. The guard outside started to say, “Sir, this building is closed until …” before realizing these were two of the few who had business here.

Houlmanath has still not gotten the blast of sorcery off the roof of his mouth. He stared at the flooring and waited for the Elf to say something. Nag Kath didn’t. He stared too, wondering what could be down there. Was it living? Had it lived? Was it just nastiness in the arsenal of doom? One thing was certain, they had to be ready.

Fondiscar appropriated all of the records and had them sent to the Elf’s quarters. They arrived before he returned from the temple. He started with the drawing of the floor stones. Houlmanath, who seemed to have Tumlen’s ability to find anything fast, produced a large fire glass for examining the papers in detail. The floor-stone layout in the picture was different than on the ground. Was the difference between them the message?

At the late twelve-bell, Nag Kath wandered into his room. Houlmanath was snoring. The Elf shook him into another position and tried to sleep-off the water sorcery of the morning. He would finish his letter to the King first thing and another for Phylless. Today was supposed to be a cordial tea with the governor.

He slept well. The aide rolled over and snored again but Nag Kath didn’t notice. He would insist his soon-to-be-promoted First Lieutenant get his own bunk. The letter to the King, in Sindarin, took half a bell for a single, rough draft including scribbles and a few pictures. He could tell Ambassador Reyald as much of this as he wanted.

His note to his lover was just that there was new excitement and he would visit when he could, or she could ride down and tear him away from his labors. Yes, Houlmanath needed his own room, but not until after he sent a messenger with authority to demand mounts at every changing station from here to Minas Tirith, and should see if the King was at his farm on the way by. The rider took the note to Phylless on his way out. The city works man who surprised them at the temple asked for and got some of Nag Kath’s time about moving water inside the triangles. There was no slope to work with. The man had actually seen the aqueduct which helped in his deliberations. With respect; the statue was a poor likeness! 

In the streets, people were taking things well. Kieff tactfully spread the story that taint from a tributary on the other side of the Anduin was causing a mild palsy here. Folk should get their water from the Sirith. Most of them did anyway. Only the better-heeled citizens were affected and they immediately solved the engineer’s problem by contracting with barge drivers to take on ballast at the north point and pump it into troughs near the tethered barges that created the floating drawbridges. The cause and what was under the flagstones was still closely known. Folk complained but cooperated.

After lunch, Governor Onathol called a staff meeting with four new guests. Colonel Vondenbrand was head of the local marines just back from patrol. Ostensibly under Minas Tirith, he and his fathers had swept this area of Umbars before and after the unmaking of the ring. He controlled river traffic. Mr. Kempas was counselor of the public good. His office supervised emergency measures against the same pirates Vondenbrand fought on the water. Public granaries were in his portfolio and he knew the private ones too, including Maedegon Mills. Lestar Punith was the engineer Nag Kath met the day before about water. His men would get the wretched job of dismantling the temple. He needed to know what to tell them, and when. Finally there was Lupar of the Guardi, Vondenbrand’s opposite number on land. They were more police than soldiers but would have to fight whatever came out of that hole.

Kieff had already explained the situation in a morning meeting. This was about what to do. They talked for an hour with sensible questions and answers. None among them tried to be heroic or pompous or claim another’s responsibility. Onathol had chosen his advisors well and the King’s marine was respectful. When the conversation played-out, the governor said, “Lord Kath, what do you recommend?”

“First, sir, I think you are doing the right things now. Men should start dismantling that temple with great care not to disturb the floor. Tainted blocks can be stored on barges until we decide the best way to destroy them.”

Kieff broke in, “It seems there are other herbs that can be used effectively. Word has already been sent to Osgiliath for more stores.”

Onathal nodded to Kieff and Lupar. Then he cracked his knuckles and said to his scribe, “Prepare a council for the other four District Marshals in Lalomen as soon as possible. I want them to keep their ground free of troubles while we wrestle with this confusion, particularly Lebennivet. They get this water after we do. Lestar, we will need your stout lads to start taking that building down.

“Anything else? Dismissed.” 

Back at the Elf’s quarters, Houlmanath did himself proud. A full wardrobe of quality apparel in Nag Kath’s size was hanging or folded, including boots and shoes. He found a stall for Charlo too. The young officer was not a handman so his seconding would have more soldierly duties soon. Nag Kath told him to commandeer a horse after making sure the lad could ride.

______________-------______________

The slow part had begun. Nag Kath took the rest of the day off to see Phylless. She had learned not to worry about her men but the new one was of the school that honored their partners. “I got your note. Thank you for that. I take it there are more troubles?”

“You could say that.”

“You don’t say much, do you?”

“I am sorry, dear Phyll. It is an old habit. I often find myself in neck-deep and do not want to jeopardize folk if I can avoid it. There are troubles, but the governor has good men and this will pass. How are you?”

“All agreed the party was a success, even if it does celebrate me being less young.” She touched her lip suggestively, “I think I am holding up rather well.”

He smiled, “We shall put that to the test shortly.” More seriously, “I may be here much longer than anticipated. This was supposed to be a three-day stop to see Lentaraes. It went much better, but now there is you, and you are holding up so well.”

She smiled too. “Thank you.”

He added, “I could see this lasting some time, but I travel at need. How do you see your future?”

Oh my! She hadn’t considered this conversation. Without knowing it, Phylless Maedegon was in a much stronger position than most of the Elf’s loves. She had means. She could ride. She liked adventure. She wasn’t much concerned about propriety. Nag Kath seemed to have resources and a deal more standing than she first thought. And when he said he could not father children; that was to the good in her ledger. 

Would he abandon her as she aged? Phyll was practical about that. She would be old anyway so why start sooner than she had to? Mother and father were across the river and she did not want to be away from them for long periods. No, part of Nag Kath was better than all of most men. She knew that well enough. And she did not have to make any decisions while he was here.

She would have dragged him upstairs but he started pouring over his trove from the junkman. The Elf appropriated the large table and spread his treasures out according to the language, starting with the ones written in the strange, ornate script. Phylless was smart but a poor reader. On the river, women were seldom taught to read even their own tongue, but merchants' daughters could always count. Watching her thumb-through the texts reminded him that a trip to the spectacle-maker was in order if she wasn’t too proud.

They had dinner out that night. A pub just down the strand had the rare yellow Odar baked with their secret recipe. It was sublime with one of the wines from Caragost that was pale rather than red. They walked it off going home. The servants knew not to be underfoot or hear too much. Yes, she thought later; this was fine for now.

Nag Kath was a working man. Before she woke he was already on Charlo heading for the island. Men would start removing stones today. They did not know why but he wanted to be there for surprises. There were none, other than a man crushing his thumb. Nag Kath was able to save it. The beautiful, tainted blocks from the temple were hauled on wagons to the drawbridge and loaded on barges waiting in the still water around the monument. Even with a full crew, it would be a week to remove them since they could not just knock the walls over and pick-up the pieces.

He kept coming back to the floor stones; one drawn, one built. They were different shades of gray. Did they form a symbol, a number? It would be something too simple to understand. A thought formed in his mind; leaves … swirling leaves! Orlo! Something to do with the old wizard in Rhûn, what did he say? “Lieutenant!”

The Elf put his boots on and collected Charlo from Houlmanath. A block before the Healing Guild office he tethered his mount to a post and walked the rest of the way. He did not want them to hear the clatter of hooves before he showed. The same girl was counting deej berries to put in little sacks. Since the tall one paid cash, she climbed off the stool and collected her granna in person. The old woman came to the counter and said, “I guess you found him then.”

“In plain sight, ma’am.”

“I already told you, the man is not in the Guild.”

“Nor should he be. I need to find someone who is, someone who can draw.”

“Young man, I need to explain that is a dangerous profession. Not everyone who comes here on a government horse appreciates that.”

So much for sneaking up. Trying not to make it sound like a threat, Nag Kath whispered, “You have a sweet grand-daughter. Is there something in the back she can get for you?”

The blonde came up coppers last time so she took the risk, “Dear, would you go count those thistle leaves for me?”

The child smiled, “Of course, granna.” Thistle was next to the sweet-cane stalks. 

The Elf knew he would get little from the old woman without extensive vetting on her part and a sizeable bribe. Bribes he had. Time he didn’t. Confusing her would not get her best recommendation either. Nag Kath gently took one of her hands in both of his. His slowly turned silver surrounding her faint yellow for fully ten seconds. The pain of arthritis in her twisted fingers eased. His hands changed back to their usual color as he put his elbows on the counter.

“I need the best. Soon." He pulled a nipper out of his vest and slid it across the wood. “Now you know I’m not the sort to cause trouble with the guardi. You split that any way you like, but I mean; soon.”

Against every instinct, she left the quarter Florin on the counter and looked up to meet his eyes for a moment before demanding, “No one gets hurt?”

“That’s right”

“Who’s the patient?”

“Me.”

She slipped the coin into her apron pocket and asked, “Still at the Navigator?”

He pulled a slip of paper and stub pencil from his tunic and scribbled Phylless’ address. “First thing tomorrow, she is there to help a gentleman with a sore knee.” He wasn’t sure he needed to add this but did, “I am sure you won’t disappoint.” The old woman did not look like here feelings were hurt. 

When he reached Phylless’ house she gave him a kiss and whispered, “My monthly bill arrived today.” 

That could be touchy. A lot of men would leave for the week or leave for good. He kissed her behind the ear and asked, “What would you like to do for dinner?”

______________-------______________

City-center bells were faint here, but about nine in the morning there was a meek knock at the door. Vergere opened it and welcomed a slip of a woman under a large straw hat carrying a carpet bag. She was shown into the picture room and asked to wait. A few minutes later, Nag Kath walked in with a tea pitcher and closed the door behind him. Under no circumstance was anyone to open it, no matter what they heard. He gave her a friendly smile and said, “Please, sit right there.” She did with the bag at her feet. He sat in the chair next to hers and said, “My name is Nag Kath. Have you heard of me?”

She nodded slowly, “Kath of the Water. Folk call me Scilla.”

“It is good to meet you, Scilla. Can you tell me your gift?”

That was a hard one. She could pull an infection and heal deep bruises, so better than average. But Mrs. Millitosh said this one drew pain from her bones so he was strong, stronger than anyone she had ever heard of. The problem was; Kath of the Water was from Osgiliath and two known witches from there were now dead as Durok. She also couldn’t bluff her way out since he could not be fooled. Scilla needed the money so she took the risk. 

“Fair. Bruises, cholic, hangover, the usual. What’s wrong with you?”

She would do. He pointed at the pitcher and said, “That’s vou tea if you need it. Have you ever countered a confusion spell?”

Oh no! Wasn’t that what old Mrs. Ingralls did before she was poisoned? No, she caused them, not cured them. This was still dangerous. Scilla rasped, “No sir. Never done that.”

The Elf sat back and said, “Then, I’m going to teach you. What was your split?”

He did not say of the nipper because that certainly never came up. Normally she would tell anyone who asked to mind their own business, or something more colorful. Not this one, “I got two silvers.”

So; a fifth-share. The Elf reached in his pocket and gave her five more. “Scilla, let me tell you what I need. Seven years ago, I was fooled by a sorcerous glamour of great power. It was for the good. A much stronger wizard tried to give me a message but I could not tell at the time. I will try to show you how to pull that memory from me. I have never done this before. It should be safe and easy on you. Whether it works or not, you keep the money and maybe learn something you can use. Is that fair?”

Scilla blinked and gulped; ascent, of sorts.

He added, “And this stays between us?”

“You got that right!”

“Please, give me your right hand.”

A bony wrist slowly made it halfway there. He took it with one hand and put his other alongside her face. She only saw the hand on her wrist but it glowed! What seemed like an instant later, he released her. Scilla’s head was a bit clearer. She wasn’t so afraid of the towering blonde sorcerer either. He asked her, “Did you feel how I did that?”

With a strange confidence she replied, “I think so. You were anchored in water and pulled in high from the neck vein and temple, yes?”

“Very good. I will do that again and I would like you to think of something you know you knew but can’t remember anymore.” He did it again, this time holding the spell almost half a minute. 

When it was over she said, “I still don’t remember. I saw what was around me but not what I was supposed to do.”

“That might be good enough. “Now, you try. Do not let the wrist pulse confuse what you tell from my neck. Just for a moment, at first.” Scilla had to move her carpetbag out of the way but she turned to the much taller healer and placed her hands as he had done to her. It was weaker and she only held the draw for a few seconds but she could tell something exchanged.

He told her, “I’ve had to use that twice on people afflicted with a Lostorin binder, made me sick as a dog. When someone is fine, it hardly leaves a trace. Now I would like you to try for as long as you can. Stop if you feel dizzy.”

She took the same position and did her best, holding the spell for a quarter of a minute. Scilla was in no pain or confusion but the drawing felt complete. The strange man turned to a ready pad and pencil and furiously drew what looked like an eastern counting rack. She did not see that. What else was in that head? The blonde man quickly drew the little balls in position and then took a huge breath. She asked, “Can I have some of that tea?” He poured them both mugs. She drained about half of hers but was not ill. 

Then the sorcerer said, “That was all I needed. Take it from me; you do not want to be known for the confusion side of that spell.”

“I heard.” 

He rose, “Thank you for coming Scilla.”

She lived, with another five silvers to boot! Her luck had never been that good. Scilla thanked him through a fog of new confidence as he showed her the door. Flopping back on the couch, he put his stocking feet on the low table with his hands behind his head. 

Phylless minded his request to keep away while the healer was here but she was down the stairs the moment the front door closed. Her Elf looked disgustingly pleased with himself. “Well, aren’t you the cat that ate the mouse!”

He just sat there looking at the ceiling with that silly grin. Had the woman turned him witless and emptied his pockets? “Naaaaaag?”

He blinked and looked at her, “Sorry Phyll. I have a great deal on my plate.”

“I should say. Did you learn anything?”

“I am not sure. I am going to find out. Are there any shops nearby that are owned by eastern people; Rhûn, Khand maybe?”

“They are everywhere. I think Voulad the baker on Vue Robald comes from there.”

“Then come with me, dear woman. We will do some counting.”

The white orc was beyond irritating! The healer HAD made him simple! He asked the price for four loaves and then wondered if he added two of the little rolls and took away one of the full loaves how much that would be. The poor baker’s wife clicked the little balls on her bead rack for each of five possibilities until the insufferable creature finally said, “Fine, I will take four loaves and two rolls and give you another ten groats for your clacker.” That got him an almost toothless smile as the woman put the loaves in Phylless’ shopping sack and the handsome couple strolled home with far more bread than they could possibly eat, him chuckling at his bargaining prowess all the while!

She did not know whether to be amused or vexed. Managing to hide the slightest trace of humor in her question, she asked, “And that solves the problems of Pelargir?”

He became serious very quickly. “If I can use what I learned, it might save thousands of lives.”

Phylless had some thinking to do. At first she thought him a charming artist with certain physical talents. Then she thought him a foolish boaster with certain, well, talents. Then she discovered that his most absurd yarns were actually true. The man who brought his note had a King’s mail patch on his shoulder, the highest authority to commandeer horses and food from anyone at any hour. And now the beardless one was fair silly because he overpaid for a clacker? Phyll thought she had one in the cupboard that a Swerting gardener forgot. As soon as they got home, the Elf took his new toy to the Dukks table in the picture room and matched the beads with his drawing from the healer. Then he took two more drawings from his satchel and compared the pattern of the beads to the flagstones, both in the original drawing and his sketch.

Phylless sat next to him still trying to understand that infuriating smile. The healer knew she was there but his mind was elsewhere. He exactly remembered the old boatwright showing him the simple counting device in the imaginary compound;

**_He placed the beads according to his count and showed_ **

**_it to Nag Kath saying, “There, now you can remember.”_ **

The beads looked nothing like either floor pattern. Orlo had shown him the device held flat. Some of his beads were spaced in-between rather than correctly positioned up or down. There is no half-way in clacking. Did halfway mean they didn’t count? Nag Kath did not get frustrated like men. It was only one more way not to be right. He had Vergere bring a handful of tooth twigs from the kitchen and stuffed them in the loose bead holes to hold them in place. Perhaps it was the angle! He placed the clacker on the edge, wedged upright with a doodle of Phyll’s neighbor’s cat. Nag Kath studied it for several more minutes while Phyll thought of a graceful way to leave. He shook his head and they went to the dining room for the high meal.

Cook made lamb, Phylless’ favorite. Nag Kath ate one of the rolls. They said little at the large dining table. Even the servants knew not to speak. Saruman’s trip hammer was pounding in Nag Kath’s head. It was there. It must be there. He saw the clacker just as the old man had shown him, storing that pattern in his brain until it could be remembered at need. He wondered if he had been given a spell to be remembered with a clarity spell of another sorcerer. What of the tea-leaf pattern in the water? Later he took Phyll upstairs and held her chastely. No one had ever done that before.

She was uncomfortable. Normally her cycle made her irritable but did not always come with the cramping many women suffered. This was one of the bad days. The Elf nestled behind her and reached his lower hand under her face and his top hand over her womb. It the pitch black she saw a silver glow coming from the hand on her belly that was met by the faintest yellow at his fingertips. She thought she was dreaming. Then she slept.

______________-------______________

He was up with the dawn. Cook was too, but didn’t the ungracious pleasure-man understand that fires had to be lit and water drawn? He was always polite, and therefore mildly forgiven, but why couldn’t he sleep late like rich people? Phylless was up earlier than usual too. That spell only lasts so long. She still thought it a dream but felt she was through the worst. 

Nag Kath wandered into the picture room holding his chin. The clacker fell over in the night on top of the lazy cat picture. Realization slowly dawned and he yelled at the top of his voice, “By the scaly balls of Glaurung!!”

Phyll and the servants ran headlong to the hall in time to see Nag Kath stuff the clacker and pictures into his satchel and speed past them out the door. He called behind him he might be a while. For anyone else, a guardi would have charged a fine for riding a horse that fast inside the walls.

Despite the speed, governor Onathal was already in his opening staff meeting with Kieff, several of the folk from the water meeting and two more functionaries. Nag Kath told the guard he was here and had something folk inside would want to see. That would have gotten anyone else a buttocks-and-collar escort down the front steps but the tall blonde man was to be heard. The guard opened the door and the Elf walked inside to bow.

Onathal looked over and told the unneeded advisors they would take this up another time. Then he nodded for Nag Kath to sit. The Elf said, “Sirs, I have to beg your indulgence for another long story. I can only say now it will be worth it.” 

He outlined preparations for the Dorwinion campaign and the little man in the fantasy garden, a powerful wizard, perhaps as potent as his mentor Gandalf. That name still meant a lot on the Anduin. He described how Orlo had put the clacker in his face after calculating nothing at all. Kieff would know part of the next bit, “I hired a healer to go back in my memory to produce the exact arrangement of the beads. They are as shown here.” He pulled the device from his satchel. “They meant nothing. I compared them to the flagstones as they were intended and as actually put in place. Nothing. 

“Then the clacker fell over on the front side. This pattern is the reverse of Orlo, of right-living, combined with Patience and Calm.” He admitted, “More or less, like how we embellish a constellation by connecting certain stars. That is the emblem of those who have quietly opposed Sauron for thousands of years. 

“The original symbol means nothing to us because it is not for us. It was facing down on whatever is under that stinking dirt. This picture from the file is how it was originally installed. Read from the back we have Fûl, symbol of power. The next; Patience. The third; War. 

“I believe the Righters replaced the original floors with their own design, then covered it with scrap to hide their ward. The reason they are upside-down is because they are not a message to those walking above. It is a ward against something beneath them. Those flagstones kept allies of Sauron from coming forth to join his armies.

“May I respectfully suggest, sir, that we stop removing the stones, lest even one of them falls and cracks that floor.”

The men around the table just looked at each other. Having fell servants constrained had to be good, but that meant they were dangerous and powerful when unleashed. And all the while, sewage from Mordor was pouring into the Great River against little more than nettle tea! The governor said gravely, “I will write a letter to the King myself. With troubles in Ithilien and now here, this is for Gondor to solve. Every man here; do your duty and may the Valar bless and keep our sovereign.”


	12. The Temple of Water

**_Chapter 12_ **

**_The Temple of Water_ **

Colonel Vondenbrand was displeased. His family had lived on Eärnil for nine generations. He was not about to start taking old women’s elixirs for sleep sweating. This was just the latest niggling thorn on top of his barren wife’s recent malcontent. Few babes had been born to any women in the better districts this year.

He believed Onathal would not come out of this well. Surrounded by blood Princes west and east plus the King himself barely a hundred miles north, Lebennin was disdained, merely a way to get from one important place to another. And now there was this beardless exquisite, who looked like a singer from Dol Amroth, ordering the governor to stay his hand and leave a bad situation for better men! For two days, Onathal had done nothing to protect his land. Vondenbrand would. He had the marines. He had the stomach. Lupar did not keep many of his guardi in the Quarter of the Faithful even now. The man would see the fitness of force. 

His only problem was Kieff. Smart, loyal, incorruptible; Kieff knew every ear in the city. To Vondenbrand’s advantage; Onathal could keep a secret. The Colonel’s Lieutenants would know little of the governor’s womanish inaction. When ordered, they would fly to the threat. A hundred twenty stout marines surrounding that squalid little temple could manage whatever came out. Sauron was dead. Power now belonged to men of the west!

Vondenbrand called his chiefs the next morning, except for Vespule and Kalägin who were on ships patrolling the Ethir Anduin. He cleared his throat, “Gentlemen, the governor asked us to settle a problem. I call upon your discretion. A foolish foreigner claims one of the little temples along the Walk of the Faithful is cursed. Officially we are to leave it be. Unofficially, the marines are called to destroy it and put paid to any notion of sorcery before common men riot. Jrondigad, Ithel, I want your men ready at dusk tomorrow. Bows, swords and pikes. Lebellid, the flagstones of the temple need to be removed. Have a dozen stout men ready with pry-bars and picks. It is the third temple from the west. The roof and one of the walls have already been torn away. We meet there at half-past the six-bell. That is all.

Vondenbrand murmured, “Uread, a moment.” The quartermaster held back until the room emptied, “What ever happened to the smuggler Dousou?”

“Nothing. Kieff made it plain that he would go back to his strumpets on the Ethir or pay his shipping taxes.”

“Spread the word he is back.”

Uread, Vondenbrand’s most political officer, tilted his head slightly. His Commander counseled, “The old men have had their turn, eh?”

Uread nodded just as slightly and saw to his labors, not knowing that Kieff was downstream talking with river-men there.

The next day saw nothing surprising. Two guardi stood vigil over the temple during the day but did not interfere with folk visiting the others. Phylless was feeling herself again and took it out on the defenseless Elf when he rode to her house after a long day in the archives. Meanwhile, Vondenbrand and his officers approached the two fresh guardi sentries. He told them, “Soldiers of Pelargir, we are called to action. This floor must be destroyed to counter fell sorcery. Can I count on your bravery?”

They both snapped to attention in assent. The Colonel nodded to the men who would remove the floor and they started hammering and picking with a will. It wasn’t two minutes later that they were all retching and puking with eyes and nostrils burning in pain. Lebellid ordered new men to get in there and complete the work. Their noses were fouled too but the first shift took the worst. They removed two layers of slates and piled the flat stones away from the center of the temple. Had Nag Kath been there instead of in Phylless’ arms, his magic eyes would have seen black and green plumes rising from the stink. A hundred apple-sized spiders scurried about from the surprise and then burrowed into the rank mud. 

And that was all. Two companies of marines stood-by staring at the festering ground. After a few minutes, archers were told to un-nock but hold at the ready. Fifteen minutes later, even the mud spiders were buried. Vondenbrand tried to recover some dignity from his bold action against the blonde alarmist and called, “Well done lads. Someone will pay for calling us here under false pretenses!” More softly to his officers, “Send them home. We’ll considering this at the morning meeting.” Warriors trudged to turn-in their weapons before finding a public house under the Evenstar.

______________-------______________

What the vainglorious Colonel did not know is that trolls do not wake until well after the sun goes down, especially trolls who have been sleeping for thousands of years. By the nine-bell, the mud spiders would have alerted them that the ward spell had been broken. It was time to come forth. They were two of the large, old trolls; a cross between cave and mountain beasts common at the time of their creation. Slow and stiff after their long nap, they clawed their way to the surface for air. No one was about in the temple sector after dark. Naked and unarmed, they could see lights in the homes of their next meal.

Vondenbrand got one thing right; Sauron was dead. These lads were buried by the Witch-King and knew nothing of the dark lord's reduced circumstances. That did not matter now. They were fierce and hungry, perfect for their intended role against the enemies of the Yvsuldor on nearby Eärnil Island. 

They moved north to find water and prey. A closed public trough served. Gate posts were wrenched from the ground as cudgels. Another block down they reached the home and shop districts. One of them slammed his post through a door while the other bashed the hole large enough for them to fit. It was not enough so they hammered the walls to shake the screaming residents down. The parents were eaten, the children buried in the rubble.

Guardi whistles began shrieking throughout the Quarter, followed closely by horns sounding for armed troops. It was of no moment to the trolls who saw people fleeing on foot and easy dining in the row apartments. Gate archers fired on them but the arrows could not penetrate the thick hides. A few that hit flush stuck head deep, fleabites to the twenty-two foot monsters as they crushed anything in their way and sent cinders into the night. The alarm was now sounding city-wide through a series of horns and bells to identify the quarter in jeopardy. It just so happened that two companies of marines were unexpectedly in the Eärnil across the bridge. In various states of sobriety, they returned to the armory to reclaim weapons held only hours before. 

Nag Kath wasn’t sure if he heard the horns or one of the trolls scream but he was out of bed and on the roof of Phyll’s house in a flash. Using the fast he grabbed his weapons and sped to the stable. He was on Charlo bareback and sped south before anyone in the household had blinked twice. 

Pelargir generally and the Faithful particularly had mostly stone or brick buildings but the roof rafters and interiors were of wood as you got further from fire-ballista range along the river. Those homes and shops became furnaces inside their stout walls. 

Captain Ithel’s Third Marine Company was first to the drawbridge between the Eärnil and the Faithful. He saw the fires and realized this was what his men were to stop before finding the ale-houses. Ithel ordered his troops across and that the bridge barge was to be pulled open to contain the threat from spreading. With luck, the commander of the Ancient Quarter guardi would make the same choice above.

Onathol and his house guard of another forty were not five minutes behind and crossed before the barge was pulled open. The Governor order the bridge severed and stopped to survey the wreckage. He shouted at two men carrying another, “What happened?!”

One of the bearers struggling back from the fires yelled, “Trolls, sir. Two of them. Big as sin and powerful. They are fighting their way towards the Ancient. 

Onathol turned to his aide and ordered, “See if that temple is breached.” The man was off like a rocket and back three minutes later.

“The floor is gone.”

“Dougsh!” The drawbridge behind him was being pulled into open water. He hollered, “Hornsman, sound ‘open the northern drawbridge’!” He knew if the monsters had crossed, no one could obey. 

By now, Vondenbrand had mustered the remaining marines on Eärnil and ordered two patrol boats off Main Sirith to contain trouble on the bank. Unlike Ithel, he did not suspect more than a fire or pirates run amok. Reaching the drawbridge, he ordered it winched for crossing and waited while the terrified horses were calmed enough to pull. Most of the other sixty men along with thirty guardi ran across as soon as the barge touched the stationary pier. 

Nag Kath heard the horn but did not know the calls of the city. He was pushing Charlo across the moveable middle section as men on both sides began to untie the cleat ropes. Not yet! He kicked Charlo and put his head down hoping to make the span before it pulled away from the permanent foundations. Fortunately, those bridges were meant for routine traffic, not emergencies, and the charger only had to jump five feet as the center barge lumbered alongside the pier.

The trolls stayed to the lit sections of the quarter and were now closing on the navigational Guilds and mausoleums near dense residential sections. One of them roared in pain as a toe split in the rampage bled a trail of black. Following the window candles, the creatures boxed themselves in near where Nag Kath had just crossed. 

He saw them. How did they escape? Was it lifting that flagstone the other day? No matter now. There were these two and who knew how many nearer the temple. Boats along the quay were filling with townspeople and making for the other side. The wind was against them from the north so they tacked east as hard as the sails could hold, trying to make the Eärnil, the place these monsters were created to destroy after regaining their strength. 

Most subjects were trapped. Ithel’s company closed from the south past the great monuments near the base of the arrowhead. Archers were told to only shoot if they had a chance of hitting the beasts’ eyes. One of them had as the monster’s hunger turned to rage. Like Nag Kath, they were made to die. 

Ithel had not met Nag Kath but a charitable interpretation of Vondenbrand’s description told him this was the one who understood what actually happened. The Elf approached him and shouted over the din, “How many of them are there?”

“Just these two. They’ve burned a swath up from the temple sector. I think we have turned them towards the Eärnil Bridge. I ordered it left apart.”

The tall blonde man seemed collected and surveyed the bridge sector before asking, “Are there any ballista?”

“Only on the Anduin corner-points and those face the river.”

What neither knew was that Vondenbrand did not order the bridge-barges separated when he crossed. Eärnil was wide open if the trolls turned the corner and made east. They did know the beasts would be trying to flee and that was the path of least resistance now that the Ancient Bridge was open. Nag Kath shouted, "Capt'n, you have no idea who I am but I hope you will take your men back to the Eärnil Bridge. I will ride there now and make what I can of the ground.” 

When Nag Kath arrived, the bridge was still in place. He screamed for the men on the other side to winch it apart. When they stalled, he used his Gandalf-voice and the two men whipped up the horses.

It would not be in time. The trolls rounded the bend of the north pointe and were bearing down with nothing in their way. Marines at the double were converging on the beasts from south and west. Nag Kath turned his horse and gathered himself before projecting in the Black Speech for all to hear, **_“Stop now. Your work is complete.”_**

They did stop to look at each other. Then they decided Charlo was the tastiest thing on this miserable island and began limping towards him. Nag Kath slid off his horse and slapped him hard across the rump. Then he climbed the drain-spout of the three-story Pilot’s League building. One troll was looking side-to-side as his one-eyed companion stared at the bridge. 

Ithel’s archers began shooting from the south which distracted the monsters enough for Nag Kath to put an arrow in the wounded troll’s other eye. It bellowed in pain and anger, groping its way to the bridge. The other followed alongside the building. When they were close enough, Nag Kath took a running leap astraddle the sighted beast’s nose and buried his sword between its eyes. 

Trolls not being terribly smart, it took a few seconds before the muscles and nerves realized they were dead. In that time, the monster waved his hands about his face as if shooing flies and knocked the Elf into the street and up against a cornerstone. 

He could not move his legs. He could not feel them. Everything went black. 

______________-------______________

Eye-witness accounts agreed the blind troll rampaged along the canal bank doing considerable damage but not killing anyone else until the sun rose. A modern troll, one of the Olog-hais, could have withstood the breaking day. A two thousand year-old troll was only made for one night without finding shelter. With the dawn, his muscles began to solidify, followed by his bones and finally his internal organs. He toppled into a bank of market stalls.

Two hundred seventeen people were lost that night. Four times that many were hurt, mostly burned. A goodly number of marines were numbered in those tallies. Nag Kath wasn’t found until morning. His crumpled body was breathing but his back was clearly broken. Men placed him as unbent as they could on a stretcher and he was evacuated with the wounded soldiers back to Eärnil. His Elvish regeneration could not pull separated spinal bones back together. He lay unconscious as nurses occasionally poured sips of water in his mouth. They knew it was only a matter of time.

While Nag Kath waited for Mandos, Onathol asked questions. Maybe the trolls had dug their way out, but they hadn’t neatly piled the flooring stones near the entrance afterwards. It wasn’t long before plenty of marines said they were ordered to destroy the circle in the center of the temple. 

That night, Vondenbrand considered his father’s sword, a fine weapon that had brought honor to their family for generations. He lovingly polished the blade as he had almost every night of service. Then he stood with the point to his chest and fell forward. Onathal later declared that his fortune be distributed among the survivors and victim’s families.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath opened his eyes two days later. At first he stared at the ceiling and timed his breath. It was not strong. He tried to move but his body would not respond. A nurse saw him wake and rushed over. The creature was not expected to regain consciousness. In the armies of the Anduin, it was considered good luck to be aware in the final moments, to make peace and instruct one’s heirs.

As the gaunt woman approached he whispered, “Where am I hurt?”

She said nothing, instead hurrying to a doctor not far away. He came close and was asked the same thing.

“Your back, Lord Kath. It is broken just below your shoulder blades.”

The Elf closed his eyes for the longest moment and said, “My jack … jacket.”

The young woman fetched it from the stand at the foot-board. He breathed, “Pocket … pockets.”

There were several. First she found his counterfeit service insignias, then a notebook and pencil, a small sack of reddish leaves and finally several slips of paper in a strange eastern script. She had to hold them over his face since he could not turn. With what strength remained he croaked, “The woman, big woman, heals in … in …” The Elf coughed specs of blood over his bedding. “Bring her.” Then he slept.

When he woke the next morning, the powerful body healer was sitting at his bedside. The man had been kind to her so she came and waited. Phylless was sitting with her, knees together, hands folded; the universal female position of concern.

His lips would not open until the orderly gave him a sip of cold tea. “Hello, Phyll ... Rough night.”

She was near tears. The physicians said there was nothing that could be done for him. That he woke at all was amazing but would only lengthen his pain, if he felt anything at all. She found her courage and replied, “Rough night, Nag.”

Then he said the healer’s name incorrectly. She hovered over his face. Nag Kath concentrated very hard and said in Variag, “P, p, put bones together.”

Beshugya of the Nûrad knew the bones would not rejoin. Men were not built that way. But the nice man asked and she would comply. The woman drew the blanket and sheet off and turned the casualty like he weighed no more than a rag doll so he was facing down. He did not moan or flinch. She tore his sleeping gown away and used her powerful arms and shoulders to push the lower half of his body in alignment with the top, asking for help from the doctor to keep the torso still. Nag Kath said nothing. They could not even be sure he was alive. Beshugya gently felt his spine to be sure the bones were touching, even if there was no spark between them. 

With reactions ranging from astonishment to horror, Nag Kath’s visitors watched his back glow pale silver, most intensely below his shoulders. His face grimaced in silent agony for nearly a minute until his body returned to its usual pallor. Then he slipped into deep sleep.

It was dark. No one was there except wounded soldiers in beds to either side. He tried to move his toes. He couldn’t tell.

A different female orderly walked by in the morning with tea for the other wounded. Someone had covered his nakedness but he was still face down in the pillow. Nag Kath was able to turn his head and watch the pretty girl tend the others. Two beds over, she saw him looking at her and froze. Then she ran to get the head physician. He was in the other ward and took what seemed like forever to arrive but he knelt beside the bed and took the Elf’s pulse. It was stronger. The doctor turned to the lass and said, “Help me roll him over, gently now.”

Mani had never seen a naked man before, let alone touched one, but she did as told and put Nag Kath on his back. He was able hear his toes wiggle enough to make a scratching sound on the blanket. In his conversion from Uruk-hai to Elf, he remembered his back tortuously remaking itself. The teeth were worst and the hands a distant second but his spine got an honorable mention. He would have to do that himself this time.

Beshugya came every day for three weeks to align his back, always followed by his own healing. He sat up in the bed. In that time, Oronthal visited several times. Phylless was there every day, feeding him with a spoon. Sometimes she stayed in his quarters a few doors down. Kieff and Houlmanath dropped-by frequently, thought they were sore busy tending to the damage among the Faithful. The broken troll-stones were used to reinforce the breakwater at the western tip of the quarter. One workman spent two days chipping the fine Elvish sword out of the creature’s stone head, though it would take a talented swordsmith to grind out the gouges.

When he was strong enough, Phylless took him home in a hired carriage and installed him in a bed brought to the picture room. Two weeks later he took his first steps. Beshugya kept coming even though her shop was suddenly very busy. Even Onathal was persuaded to have his balky back straightened by her understanding hands. Phylless read to him which improved her skills and he spent time on his hoard of big and small Westron books. 

Two months after the rampage, he was walking stiffly. Charlo was found the day after he was, grazing in the Graveyard of the Heroes along the western bank. It took a while to discover where he belonged but he made it back to the granary well before his master. 

Nag Kath did not feel up to riding just yet so he took the long, slow walk to the government island. Kieff met him at the office and they shared tea. Houlmanath made full Lieutenant. He hadn’t loosed a shot but he did take charge of the fire crews and saved quite a few folk trapped on burning streets. The only man responsible was quietly buried and his wife pensioned off among her people downstream. The rest of the officers were absolved with Ithel promoted to High Captain of the City. He earned it.

Elf and Lieutenant walked across the bridge to the Quarter of the Faithful. It would be a long time rebuilding and not the same. There was no cry to duplicate monuments for men who died so long ago. They would build a few new ones, though. The restaurant that served the delicious nuppers was untouched so they ordered a basket with fine ale to wash them down. Life would go on.

Nag Kath sprawled on Phyll’s couch in the main room after walking both ways. The servants had softened their view of his being there, especially when personal letters from the King and Prince Faramir arrived in thanks with wishes for a speedy recovery. Lentaraes never got royal letters! Family and friends in Minas Tirith wrote too. Against orders, Shurran rode down for a week to punish the nuppers and Odar. It was good to see the big Northman! 

After Shur rode north, Phylless got home from shopping finding her Elf still on the couch. He was now past sleeping but took more waking rest, sometimes twice a day. Making sure cook and Vergere were out of sight, his nurse sat on the edge of the cushion and put her hand on Nag Kath’s thigh. A soft kiss opened his eyes and she said, “Now that you are better …”

Phyll curled against him. He woke her gently and said, “You have nurtured me back to health.”

Thinking of the evening she smiled, “Yes, a complete recovery.”

“Tomorrow we should have a picnic.”

Nag Kath spent most of the next three weeks helping heal the injured. He learned to work with burns. Many people still needed care, even after his long convalescence. He also rode, ran, swam and built his strength, an unfair advantage for his kind, as Mrs. Skilleth pointedly told him. He enjoyed his time with Phylless. She marveled at how he could take her monthly pain away with the lightest touch.

By the end of October, the White City called. That night he held her close and said, “Phyll, I must return. I would dearly love for you to come with me. The only life I can offer you is what you have just seen. If you can find in it what you need, I hope you will become my wife.”

Phylless had been expecting that for a while. She had grown a great deal in caring for the changeling. The woman turned to face him and said, “Yes, but now you have to tell me all the things you haven’t.” As much as he got out took days. After confirmed reports of him leaping off a building and stabbing a troll in the forehead, the rest did not seem that outlandish. He treated her like a lady. That was enough.

As they prepared to go, she said, “I still get my stipend from the mill but I cannot help much up north. Can you afford this?”

The Elf looked like he was calculating how to make ends meet when he walked over to his satchel and returned with five gold Florins. Dropping them in her palm he calculated, “That should keep the place up for a while and let you buy-out Missy from your niece, unless you would rather get a horse when we go by Lossarnach.”

He did it again! Money hadn’t come up in his explanation of wizards and orcs. He seemed to be doing all right. She was. But five full Kings lolling in his art bag? They would take the ferry upriver and get married in Minas Tirith near Syndolan Day. He had a few things to attend first. And her parents must come up!

Phyll put her foot down. Even though she knew many people who went up and down the river, she always imagined it to be like hiking through Dunland. Her parents were old! She told him firmly, “Mother and father are not fit for such a harsh trip!”

“Harsh? Dear Lady, taking the transport to the Rammas gate is like driving your living room with three good meals a day and plenty of Dukks. If they use man-carts, their feet don’t even have to touch the ground. This time of year; seven days up, four back, we’ll rent the boat both ways and you can have all your friends visit.”

Phyll lost confidence for a moment. She was considering a move to one of what seemed several homes and realized how little she knew about the wide world. In a meek voice she murmured, “I won’t know anyone there, Nag. Will I be alone?”

He grinned the famous Nag Kath grin, “You’ll have more friends than me. My mother hens will put you right.” Mother hens? Who were they?

Missy stayed. Her niece loved that horse and rode her much more than Phylless. Phyll could get another. Most of her things stayed too, to be here when she came back, often, she imagined. The newly built River Goddess took them in comfort to the City of the King.


	13. Inheritance

**_Chapter 13_ **

**_Inheritance_ **

Except for Mordor, all of his returns were the same. He saw the same people, added new stories and scheduled meals for weeks out. This time he had his girl with him. Younger than Tal and Ardatha, she would become the constant third at Thursday tea. Talereth saw something of herself in this one too. 

At first people were not sure what to expect. Of all his unfathomable adventures, this one was well chronicled. He was really famous now with monsters slain in single combat before hundreds, lit by the flames of the Faithful! And he had been badly injured. Would he return as a cripple? In his letters he told everyone not to visit, although Shurran ignored that and enjoyed the nuppers. People sang hearty ballads in taverns of him destroying between two and a dozen trolls, wargs too since he had prior credit for them. The changeling needed to carry extra groats to find in childrens' ears. And who else would throw the Syndolan party?

With introductions to his ‘mother hens’ (not to be called that in their presence), Phylless had no trouble learning the city. Turnlie liked her as well and put out feelers for a lady’s maid. It took a week but a Mrs. Fennel had recently been released after her mistress moved in with a stingy son. The woman was fifty, smiled only under duress, and would make sure the lady of the house was always correctly presented. She took the room upstairs.

One of Nag Kath’s first tasks was writing the King that he was back. He expected that to follow the usual pattern of a reply with a specific appointment to visit. Not this time. Turnlie opened the door and her mouth dropped before she curtsied deeply and said, “Please come in, Sire.”

Nag Kath and Phyll were upstairs deciding where to put his archives. Mrs. Fennel joined Turnlie at the door, bowed and said, “I’ll just get him. Turn please make his Highness comfortable. Tea?” In most households, the lady’s maid outranks the cook. Turnlie had seniority but was a natural follower. It was a working relationship. 

King Elessar Telcontar smiled, “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Turnlie retreated to the kitchen and fortunately had some hot and ready. Mrs. Fennel went to the stairs and saw the couple ready to descend. The woman's eyes widened and she gestured to come down NOW! When they reached the floor, both of them bowed deeply. As he usually did, the King bowed as well. Then he walked over and shook hands with Nag Kath saying, “I did not know if you were up and about. You seem hale enough.”

“Right as rain, Sire. May I introduce my fiancée Mrs. Maedegon?”

The King gave a small bow again and said, “A pleasure, ma’am. I hope you do not mind my stealing your fellow away for a bit.”

“Not at all, Your Highness. I was just leaving.” A quick look at the staff told them they were just leaving too. The women put on their wraps and passed a half-dozen stout fellows on the switchback to get tea of their own since dinner was already purchased.

Aragorn looked around, “I have never been here before. My fault, you have invited me many times. I expect you have one more extraordinary tale to tell.”

They spoke nearly two bells, long enough that the ladies thought they were safe and returned while Aragorn was still there. Phylless brought them new mugs but the King rose and said he was glad to have met her and that he would be in touch. As he was leaving, Nag Kath asked, “Sire, I will be needing a gentle mare. Who do I see about that?”

The King smiled, “I’ll have Bessandal look in.” Then he was gone.

Since Aragorn hadn't touched his second mug of tea, Phylless gulped half of it and set the mug on the low table. Yes, her man did know the King, who dropped by for tea! He wasn’t silly at all! She got more lordly councils at a belated dinner with Reyald and Ardatha’s family. Phyll knew Ardatha from Tal’s tea but this was the whole brood. Uncle Nag’s new lady met with approval. She already liked Shurran and who was this beautiful child? 

In Nag Kath’s convalescence, Reyald had been given a four year renewal as Ambassador of Dale. All postings were shortened from five to four years so they matched the Thainmoots. The whole family would go home next season for an overdue visit. Granna was still doing fine and looked forward to seeing them. 

Shurran had finished his study in architecture. Now he had to decide if he was going to use it, and if so; where? In the modern King’s Peace, there were not a lot of pure soldiers in the world. One could not rise in the old style as a commander of standing armies. Realms maintained small, permanent troops built to travel fast and hit hard, but fixed-line infantry were largely militias now. As second heir, he wasn’t sure how much cousin Bain wanted him in charge of an army. Shur was a man good and true, but he wasn’t needed. Caladrion said he should come visit Dol Amroth and see the sights. Reyald came into some coppers lately, why not?

Eniecia watched Phylless, presumably a woman of appetites. She wanted to be a woman of appetites. Now that she had set her sights on the handsome aide from Belfalas, the world could get on with it. Her problem was that the young man traveled a lot and she wasn’t sure if he felt the same way about her. He would have choices. She had even more, but what was that to her true heart? She had gathered from her tight-lipped brother that Uncle Nag was a lover so the well-preserved creature with him was pleasant company. Shur’s Khandian enchantress had not come up.

There was a little business to discuss and since Phyll was nearly family, Reyald said, “Broughtur and I finished the last purchase three weeks ago. All are businesses except the last which will need extensive repairs before we decide what to do with it. I like the man, Nag, Sylveth too.”

Uncle Nag asked, “Should we get more?”

Reyald held his chin and answered, “Best wait a bit. Broughtur said things seem a bit high.”

Phylless was fascinated but kept her face impassive. They owned property?! To add to the drama, Nag Kath said, “I need to get over and see Tumlen too. He was about to buy that wharf on the west side when I left. It will take some coin to make it presentable.”

Reyald said, “He would have told me. Besides, you seem to know all that happens there.”

The famous grin; “Flattery is wasted, old friend. There are hundreds of Elves in the middle of Ithilien and I had not a clue ... growing food and planting new forests. If one of their rivers hadn’t gone bad, I still might not know.” He looked to his intended, “Of course, it all went fine in the end.”

Eniecia blurted out of nowhere, “You stabbed it in the forehead?!”

“Aye, landed on his nose and jabbed down. Big one, the size of Bilbo’s trolls. I thought them all dead ... hope there aren’t more above Arnor.”

They retired early. Ardatha was putting on a brave face but she was uncomfortable. Her da sensed it and sent up herbs the next day from his recent travels. A healing draw might help too. 

There was a slightly awkward moment the next morning. “Phyll, would I be a complete swine if I mentioned you need spectacles?”

“Of course you would. But you are right. I’ve never seen up-close well.”

“I think women with spectacles are irresistible.”

“Um hummm.”

Undeterred he said, “I can’t get them for you. The master has to test your eyes and measure your face. It takes two or three fittings.”

“If you laugh I will strangle you in your sleep.”

“I will try.”

“Fail and I will strangle you somewhere else.”

“I will try.”

Three days later that conversation was forgotten. She saw detail. These were amazing! She got a full pair, a reading pair and clever boxes to keep them out of sight. 

  
Their next lunch with friends was interesting. Timalen Brushta was the third artist. He knew Lentaraes better than Nag Kath. Before the King’s northern refugee arrived, they were the only students for five months when Quastille was keeping the wolf from the door. And now here was Mrs. Maedegon. Marie was lovely and kept the conversation moving. Tim kept thinking how much Phylless looked like Nag’s first flame, Kataleese. 

They talked about the mural. It was holding up well. Nag Kath had completely forgotten to show Phyll. They must go down. Some of the troublesome yellows needed touching but overall it was still attractive. They should do another. Timalen suggested one of the Fellowship of the Ring now that Nag knew what Legolas looked like!

That afternoon Phyll got a gift that took her breath away. Trooper Huron of the King’s outriders was waiting at the front door with the most exquisite horse. Her name was Maida of Lossarnach Farm, six years old with a colt now out for his first training away from mother. Maida was a chestnut with perfect tack, saddle, kit and manners. The trooper said she was for the future Mrs. Kath as a wedding present and for taking such good care of the King’s knight. He saluted and handed Phylless the reins. Without even going in the house they took her down to the stable with fellow Lossarnach horse Charlo until another stall opened up. Walking back Phyll said, “Lord Kath, you have such lovely friends.”

______________-------______________

The timing was fine. Saddling-up to see Tum and a trip to Osgiliath was a good test for her new mount. Lossarnach was now synonymous with fast and if Maida wasn’t pure speed like Charlo, she could keep up. She was the right size for her new owner. Phylless never stopped smiling and gave the horse some honest turns on the way to the river city.

Tumlen was a bit rounder than in the spring. He did not have the height to hide weight and his plump little wife was a superb cook. No matter, he gave Nag Kath a fierce hug and shook hands with his new woman. He did not watch officially, but the problems of broken parts on the aqueduct were in hand. Sections of the trench cover had to be replaced so the water men simply got it over with. The wharf property was stalled with in-fighting among the city council. Tum did not have the influence on the west side that he did here, bunch of ninnies if you asked. It wasn’t expensive, just slow. All the other properties were rented and fine, outside of a planned new roof for the collier’s. 

Nag Kath and Phyll took a room at the Great River and walked the strand looking at the shops and restaurants. Osgiliath was much more like her home than the austere White City. ‘Ossi’ was slowly becoming the art center of the empire since they would take risks. When they settled in for the evening Nag Kath told his future wife that someday he thought this would be more home than across the river. Dale always called to him too.

It was time to prepare for their nuptials. This time, Nag Kath left that entirely to the mother hens. He would write the invitations and show up. The Syndolan party was hired-out too – same people, same guests. Alas, his fireworks powders were all gone. He kept forgetting to ask the King what happened to the ones from Orthanc. They were chronically short of Hobbits too. Nag Kath had faith it would go well. True to his word, arrangements were made for anyone who wanted to come from Pelargir to the wedding on December 14th would get free, luxurious passage on the River Goddess arriving a few days before the ceremony. The captain was a given a deposit so that wedding guests got preferred bunks with the same treatment on the way back, a sweet deal for the master of the boat who gobbled it up without demurrer. 

On the 10th, the boat arrived with Phyll’s parents, the Maedegons, the Dystrans, her mother's niece and nephew, her best friend Dethel from the west bank and a cousin she hardly knew. Her parents stayed at Nag Kath’s house and the rest were lodged in quality inns nearby. Two days before the ceremony, the menfolk had a very tame bachelor party at a local eatery. The groom was reluctant to show any magic tricks but people insisted on hearing about his storied past. He smiled and let others tell the threadbare tales. 

Phylless had her own party now that there were some females from home to mix with her new friends in the White City. She was settling in quickly. Phyll left Lentaraes on her own terms and made a life for herself ten years before his went to his reward. She knew her priorities. Phyll liked intimacy and had pursued it discreetly. She liked riding and getting away from the yeast factory when she wasn’t needed. She was not driven to have babies, though they would be loved and welcome. 

Now some of those people were here. She would visit them downriver too. It really was as simple as staying in her living room and playing Dukks while the boat did the work. Of course, Ardatha and Tal were there and arranged entertainments for the visitors in what would be on the order of three weeks between docking at Rammas and getting back on board. 

Phylless was no blushing bride. She did not need reassurance. Like Eniece in some ways, she made her decision as she spooned her changeling fish stew while he was flat on his back. Phyll was busy with preparations and left her groom to whatever he did. He told her, many times, that something was brewing in the north and that he would be drafted if the powers-that-be followed the trail. He spent time reading the books he bought, sketching and disappeared for a half day at a time to visit the archives. 

Shurran came around several times just to say hello and see if Nag’s back was fully healed. It seemed to be, but his grand-da dutifully stretched and bent every morning before dawn after completing his wakeful rest. Phylles also decided she liked his feather bed, now the third generation from a fowler in Dale. Her cycle started the day before and she worried their wedding night would not be to his liking. He comforted her and used his talent to reduce her symptoms. 

The big day was much like with Flor. They had a ceremony in the local tradition of Saying and testimony. A registered officer of the city performed the rites and the whole lot of them repaired to the Merchant’s hall to punish assorted casks. And as before, the newlyweds slipped out at the height of the gaiety and left everyone else to clean-up. 

Syndolan Eve was different. That was Nag’s party. Lots of the same people, including the Pelargir contingent, sang songs, danced and watched the next generation grow into their mantles welcoming the New Year. And, as always, Nag Kath and Tal sat on the front bench to watch the King’s fireworks. She said, “I like her, Nag.”

“She came every day. Many women can fall for the dashing hero. Not all will spoon-feed a cripple. That was when I knew.”

Tal was getting cold, “Let’s go back in.”

______________-------______________

One of the reasons Nag Kath wanted little to do with preparations was waiting for his summons. A meeting was set four days after Syndolan.

He had not been in this room before. It was for military planning and had maps of the Reunited Kingdom on the walls. He sat next to Reyald joining his Liege, Lady Arwen, General Velladath, Belfalas Ambassador Vertandigir, Minister of State Felandrulas, governor Onothal of Lebennin and Velland Kieff, Ambassador Donaol of Arnor and two scribes. Walking in from a conversation in the hallway a few minutes later were Prince Legolas, Prince Faramir and Lord Gimli of the Glittering Caves.

They nodded. More fulsome greetings would have to wait. The King said, “Welcome, all. We are met today to discuss ancient poisons. Prince Faramir, would you outline the situation in your lands?”

The Prince began, “Thank you, My Lord. As you know, one of Sauron’s old pits was exposed in a landslide and now taints a river running through Prince Legolas’ community and then to the Great River.” He smiled at Nag Kath and continued, “There has been considerable upset downstream.”

The King looked at the faces and said, “Perhaps roilings of that tortured mountain range?”

Faramir answered, “It cannot be known, but enough rock tumbled down to divert a fair river.”

Nag Kath passed around pictures he drew of the pool and the mountains. Everyone looked much longer at the lake of monsters than the landscape. 

After the King viewed them it seemed he was about to say something and then shook his head slightly and waited. Governor Onothal was the last to receive the sheets. He looked at Nag Kath and muttered, “Looks like our new friends.”

Nag Kath responded, “Aye, sir. About that size.”

Legolas took a turn, “Nag Kath tested the waters to the source. Did you test them downstream as well?”

“Yes, My Lord. The sorcery diluted but the Temple drew the poisoned water to it, making it stronger again. With the trolls gone, it dissipates as it should. It is still just as harmful in Lord Faramir’s lands.”

The King then asked, “Legolas, you have long maintained that these are residual sorceries of the Witch-King of the Nazgûl. Are you still of that mind?”

“I am. One of our learned foresters thought the pool might be of his craft to create the riding drakes when horses proved unreliable.” 

Aragorn held that thread, “And you think there is something in Angmar that keeps these places from dying even after the Witch-King is destroyed?”

The Elf Prince shook his head, “It is merely the first place I would look. Dol Guldor is worth an inspection too. My thinking is that the places in this world still afflicted by menace were all under his supervision. Gandalf said that he was a powerful Numenorean sorcerer before the ring, and was not completely enslaved until many years later. He may have had devices of his own, either in the service of the Dark Lord or kept in reserve against his own deliverance from their frequent defeats.”

General Velladath looked sideways and asked, “Nag Kath, are you concerned that the troubled places could field men and arms against our Lord’s peace?”

Nag Kath held his chin for a moment and replied, “I recall the Army of the Dead. Three in this very room called them to fulfill their broken oath. They brought terrible power yet had no substance. I saw them pass through my cell as the Steward’s guest.” He paused, “Are the dark soldiers in the dead marshes that much different if restored to their former service?”

Even the King had not heard the Elf’s worry put so plainly. As they mulled that, Nag Kath added, “There are pockets of them all about, waiting impatiently. If a lesser sorcerer could wield small power with the wrong ring, another might do the same with tools still hidden.”

Aragorn brought the discussion back to the dreadful pool, “My Lords and Lady, in the meantime, what might be done for the hurt flowing from the mountains?”

No one had immediate ideas. If the picture the strange Elf drew was accurate, it would be a lifetime of moving mountains to steer the headwaters away from the catch-pool. Again, they spoke quite a while with Nag Kath observing. Faramir was quiet too. As a master of stone, Gimli took most questions on what was possible.

When the discussion reached no conclusions, King Elessar smiled grimly, “You have been quiet again, Nag Kath. That always worries me.”

The Elf started slowly, “As many of you know, I do not care for flesh. Before I had any say in what I was served, I had to pick the meat out of my stew and make do with the rest.”

Most around the room looked at each other waiting to see where this led. Arwen did not. Her gaze never wavered. In his next breath he said, “I do not know if it is necessary to move the rocks or the pool. Strain the meat out of the stew and burn it.” He grinned the obscene grin again, “Though it will be the worst job of the age.”

It proved the old saying that sometimes the volunteer is the one looking at his boots when everyone else stepped back. Florins to groats it would not be Elves winching fell-beast haunches out of that swill. Nag Kath managed to keep his grin behaved as he considered the labor. He threw them a rope, “The men of Mordor might be interested in such work. They are not far away and work cheaper than orcs.”

This time everyone stared. Aragorn grinned as badly as Nag Kath. Arwen looked alarmed. Everyone else saw wisdom in supervisory roles. Since he started it, he finished it, “I am on good terms with the rulers of the western Nûrnen and speak a bit of their tongue. Next summer I could travel over the back of that mountain and parlay. With their leave to use the lower, hidden pass behind the Poros, perhaps your Lordship can arrange Mûmikils for the heavy lifting.” It occurred to him, “Better yet, just have Haradrim do all the work. They did well on the water-path.”

Nag Kath looked to Minister of State Felandrulas and asked, “Sir, are conditions such that I can get a letter to Bror Dulgov? I get along well with the old rascal and he might grease the skids into Khand for us. We need them to know we are not conspiring with their old enemies.”

Faramir said with a smile, “Have you been planning this all along, Lord Kath?”

“Nay, sir. I surprise myself. I only just remembered the stew of my Rohan trip. It seems I stumble into water despite my own lazy intentions!”

**_My Lord Dulgov, Rightful Bror of Rhûn,_ **

**_I hope your reign continues to be blessed. I may shortly embark on an embassy to the Nûrnen concerning old sorceries left by the Dark Lord. It is an engineering matter on our eastern border. I wanted to let you know this in no way interferes with our cordial relations. A like message is being sent to his Excellency the Khagan._ **

**_With my best wishes for your long rule, NK_ **

______________-------______________

Phylless was always interested in affairs of the lordly, and this meeting was as lordly as one could get. It was not fawning absorption, more a study in management. At the yeast mill, she saw that minor decisions of the high often meant years of labor for underlings. Phyll curled on the couch next to her Lord advisor and asked, “How was your council?”

“Good I think. I probably volunteered for another trip to Mordor. Fortunately, I have offers to share sour Nûrnen beer among the Thains of that land. Oh, Lord Gimli and Velland Kieff are coming for dinner on Wednesday so we'll need a demi-cask of red." He asked, “And you, my love. No dark servants in your morning?”

She smiled more broadly, “Fewer. Eniecia took me to tea. She is sweet on a young man from Belfalas who seems to be much engaged in his career.”

“She is perfect for him.”

Phyll arched her eyebrow. It would not rival Tal’s but it signified none-the-less. “So I heard. That is the nature of girls. I was only a few years older when a distinguished man swept me off my feet. With Eniecia’s looks and rank, she has her pick of suitors. Do you know who replaced you?”

He grinned, “I had an unwitting hand in their introduction. Cal is a fine man and will be important in affairs of Middle-earth. He may not be of a mind to marry as early as my grand-daughter.”

“I have a hard time thinking of you as a grand-da.”

“My reason for being Uncle Nag. Uncles come in all ages. It is a fair day. Let us don our coats and go see the painting.”

Being from Pelargir, Phylless did not mind walking. Steep climbs were new. They made their way to the base of the switchback road and looked at the work in fair light. She put her hand over her mouth first then asked, “What is this, Nag?”

Still looking at the mural he said, “A likeness of a garden on the sixth, not far from Ardatha’s house. If I am ever less Knight-Errant, I will do more. The sixth level and up is not allowed to most folk because it houses government for this vast land, like the Eärnil in your home. If they cannot see it, this is almost as good.” He said softly, “It makes me proud.”

Winter became spring … and Caladrion was back! 

Ardatha heard Eniecia humming Catanales so much she was humming them herself. Sometimes Eniecia sang them in her high, sweet voice but the Dalish accent worked against the southern lyrics. Shurran and Nag Kath thought the same thing separately; if Cal was in the market for a wife, he would not do better than Eniecia. Despite her Dalish upbringing, she was finally old enough by White City standards.

Uncle Nag had Belfalas Ambassador Vertandigir and his wife for dinner with Caladrion. He did not arrange any surprise meetings with bashful lasses or interested relatives. They liked Phylless. The folk of Pelargir and Dol Amroth have a lot in common, along with some rivalries that make life interesting. One uniting thread was the only recent end of widespread piracy along their shorelines. Umbar corsairs were still hard to dislodge along the Ethir Anduin. If enemies were willing to hide in those mud islands, you would lose more men than you slew to get them out. Part of the trouble was that Gondor laid claim to the north bank of the Harnen River from Harad in the peace settlement. A small outpost was created. On the page, Gondor was responsible for policing where a lot of the corsair ships were built. The Reunited Kingdom had never enforced that agreement and the Umbari weren’t about to so it was a fairly lawless stretch of coast. 

Nag Kath coached Phyll to ask the Lieutenant’s plans after his posting. He was as vague as most young men would be with no mention of a sweetheart waiting breathlessly on the pier. It was a pleasant dinner with talk of music, trolls and river defenses. The women might find time for tea. 

Summer lazed along. The King and Queen visited Pelargir on a state visit thanking the brave subjects for their pains. By ritual, Nag Kath and Phyll met Tim and Marie at the Steadfast, once the Wayfarer, for the Feast of Tellarian. None of them drank very much but it was a beautiful day in the spirit of renewal. What made it special was that Marletta came with a man about ten years her junior. Timalen waved her over and began introductions before he realized circumstances had changed. Marletta introduced Mr. Lensenar of the glass trade and joined them. 

She took a few moments for her to recognize the Elf in fitted clothes, and how much Mrs. Kath looked like Kataleese, wherever she was these days. It had to come up. Marletta asked, “Tim, did you ever hear any more of Lentaraes?”

Tim and Marie went bloodless. Phylless had no trouble at all, “I married him years ago but it did not stick. He died four years past.”

Marletta touched her arm and said cheerfully, “I nearly tied the knot myself, child. Looks like you escaped cleanly!”

Phylless, cut from much the same cloth as the previous love, said as brightly, “Indeed, then Nag Kath came to visit and got me instead. It is a small world. In Lentaraes’ drawings is a very flattering image of you, Marletta.”

Marie had never met the footloose artist/miller but had heard about him for thirty-five years so the womenfolk had a gay old time while the menfolk got words in edgewise. Lensenar was a nice fellow, and not so young or poor to be a woman’s toy. It happened they knew a few of the same folk. Time flew so they stayed for dinner.

Strolling home Nag Kath offered, “That went well.”

“I thought so too. Nag, you seem to know nice people. That says a lot about you. What does Marletta do?”

“A bit like you. I think she inherited a modest stake before we met and does what she likes.”

Phyll thought a moment and asked, “Would you mind if I saw her again?”

He stopped in his tracks, “No, see who you want. I’ll wager she knows things about Minas Tirith you won’t get elsewhere.”

“Thank you, Nag.”

In the mail slot was a packet just arrived from a Dorwinion address. Inside was the Bror’s signet stamp and one word, “Understood”

______________-------______________

The King asked after a sip of Dorwinion, “What do you think, my friend?”

“Me; I would march a hundred Haradrim with two of their small beasts up there and net the foul flesh. It may take two or three seasons. That might not find the sorcery but it will clean the water. The men of Mordor are not ready for that labor. But I would send an embassy to the Nûrnen with gifts asking leave to travel through their lands. We can’t get there with the right tools from our side. The Nûrns are young in their countries. The right encouragement might steer them towards freedom, and they just outside your door.”

The King wondered, “Do we approach our foulest enemy so soon, Nag Kath?”

His liege did not understand. “The men of Mordor were pack mules, lower than orcs. They lived in misery and hunger. Forgive my presumption, Sire, but we know a great deal more of their lore than they do. They were slaves and now they are not. Khand already trades with them. I think a Lordly embassy of friendship from this side of the mountain serves both.” 

Nag Kath sipped his tea and added, “Please do not think me clever. That notion comes from the much wiser Amiedes Tallazh. Buy something of theirs for more than it is worth and let them know we are not the monsters their parents feared. I can be there and back before the snows. We will still need those oliphaunts, and they will have to carry everything up with them next spring.”

King Elessar held his chin and looked at his tea, “Leave the Haradrim with me.”

Nag Kath felt he needed a serious talk with his new bride. “My dear, I am called into the fray again. This should be not be all that dangerous, but neither was my visit to Pelargir. I want to tell you how my affairs are arranged.”

She whispered, “Please, do not even consider such things.”

“I hadn’t before, but after being so badly hurt, it is much in my thoughts. Let me finish and then I will hear your mind. My will is in the file chest with a copy at the bank. This morning I put fifty Florin in your name free and clear. If I die, most of the Minas Tirith and Osgiliath properties go to you, something like another three hundred Florin, plus the rest of the ...”

“Three hundred … three … oh dear … what?!”

He smiled wanly, “Enough to get by for a season or two. I left Flor an income for life. Tragic woman. If I die, she has no claim on what is yours and her income ends if she makes a fuss. I would not have that. If you ever meet her, be nice.”

She put her head on his shoulder, “I hope never to collect. Take me upstairs and reassure me.”

______________-------______________

Nag Kath rode to Emyn Arnen alone and was joined by a dozen of Faramir’s best, including his Chief of Staff Raynar Unthold, son of the great hero of the Pelennor. They would add Elves in Emyn Vierald to assess work as engineers and then continue south with plans to cross at the hidden pass above the Poros headwaters.

They only stayed a day with the Elves. Legolas was not there but Cristigir was in the company of six riders and it was good to have his experience. Knowing better than to assault the lake directly, they came from a valley one peak south and tracked across as they had done last year. 

Everyone looked down. Being told what to expect helped but it was still nauseating. A fell-beast hatchling floated to the surface when they arrived and then descended to the invisible bottom. Two of Faramir’s men were Engineers. Hurnadlan had been very junior on the aqueduct. Nag Kath remembered him. All of the builders spent time wondering how winches could be placed and what would be needed to keep that many men warm and fed. Two days later they were gladly back down the mountain.

They could have gone directly east but that was rough country. The last trip suggested a lower pass to the south was better suited for hard travel. A good guess was that the Liûrzrant River was about even with the Poros on the other side. That would take them directly to Ûniarra Nûrn, Hurm Rydovosh's new capital. Had they known, they would have gone east first. A sawtooth ridge of razor-like rocks stretched several miles over what should have been the easy part. Further south was a better crossing but they still had to lead the horses on foot for a day. 

From there it was just a matter of following the river for another ten days past the frightened stares of occasional herdsmen. Nearing the capital the stares became more suspicious. They anticipated this and rode in formation slowly enough not to seem attacking. Ûniarra Nûrn had no gates. It did have a guardhouse. Two sentries who looked like they would rather not be there stepped out and ogled the nineteen riders on tall, smooth horses. Nag Kath held up his hand in their salute and said what he hoped was the local equivalent of “Greetings, we come to speak to Hurm Rydovosh.”

That was a gamble. His head could be on a pike. The two men talked a moment. One raised his hand telling them to hold while the other made tracks back into the city center. The Elves and men of the west waited in the saddle for the twenty minutes it took the guard to bring his superior.

It was Captain Orvous. With the sun in his face he did not recognize Nag Kath until the Elf said in a Plainstongue blend, “Hail, Orvous. It is Nag Kath returned to pay homage to the Hurms of the West!”

The smile was slow in coming but he turned to the sentry who had brought him here with a message for the Hurm. Then he waved them to follow. Nothing had changed. It was the Visitors who built more than mud huts in Mordor. With them gone, it might be a few generations before anything grander was commissioned. Orvous pressed two troopers as grooms and the western company was taken towards the main paddock. Nag Kath dismounted and gave Charlo’s reins to one of them. The Nargil cavalry captain grinned, “You come here! No more Visitors.”

Nag Kath imagined those who died on the field got off easy. For the first time in a while he wondered about Chûran’s son. Was that him? He would look for other pretty men but figured the Assured’s spawn were at the top of the hatchet-list. Their luck held. Rydovosh himself stalked out of Nulvanash’s old palace, as it was fancied here, and gave him a warm two-armed greeting. In their rough Plaintongue he barked, “Good. You come. Come. We eat!”

They passed the good citizens of the newly combined Hurm-holds of Nargil and Ûniarra Nûrn who were agog, though not as scared as they had been not so long ago. Rydovosh was not a kindly ruler but he did not torture for amusement either. Nag Kath had told his company only the officers would be acknowledged, it was nothing personal. Dinner was a few hours away so the guests were taken into the great hall while the Elf introduced Unthold and Cristigir as representatives of their people. They wore their best uniforms for distinction. A couple of the Hurm’s officers arrived to balance the mix, one because he spoke passable Westron. As planned, Nag Kath let the two western Lords do the talking. They brought gifts to recognize the lordship of Rydovosh and Aômul to the north. The Elf watched the Hurm’s face closely to see if that raised concerns. They had no facial subtlety. If that alliance had gone sour, it would show. It didn’t. 

Both representatives brought forth items Nag Kath thought Tallazh would have said could ‘move the market’. Western Nûrnen was self-sufficient in grain but so was everywhere else so it had no trade value for luxuries from Khand. Rhûn got most of their luxuries from Khand too. In his first offering, Unthold gave the Hurm a finely-wrought sword that was close to the style used here. It was engraved with Rydovosh’s name and what Nag Kath remembered of his rough crest. Another for Aömul was waiting for his representative.

Again; no subtlety. He beamed like a child at such a wonder. There would be several more gifts over the course of their stay, with the full understanding that their only reward would be ghastly food. Not to be outdone, the Elves presented fine jewelry for the Hurm’s wife and daughter. Although told it was for women, they wondered if the Hurm might accessorize. By this time, ale was brought in a demi-cask served in their usual assortment of heavy mugs. To Nag Kath’s surprise, it was drinkable. Beer was the first national improvement of the western delta. The Elves were polite. The Ithiliens seemed pleased.

Dinner was almost edible. A sheep was slaughtered as soon as the guests arrived for stew. Without the meat it would have been tasty because there are a number of herbs here that were not found anywhere else. Nag Kath took the liberty of eating a quarter of a genuine Lembas cake before they arrived. He was concerned that the Elves would look like they had been captured by balrogs. Either they enjoyed themselves or were under orders to appear that way in dumb-show with the Nargils spread around the Hurm’s table.

In some ways, men of the Nûrnen are like Northmen who do not stay up very late. The dinner was over about what would have been the nine-bell in the west and the company was shown to a barrack cleared an hour before. Elves resist fleas. The men brought harsh soap to kill the bugs at the first stream on the way home. Some slept outside, a western custom, they explained.

Another thing unique about Mordor management was that there were no scheduled activities. Soldiers did what they were told but there was no drilling. Non-combatants performed all of the daily functions. Some of them looked like former soldiers of Nulvanash. His regular army was spared but not embraced. The first thing their company did was check the horses. A middle-aged fellow shuffled up to Nag Kath while he was lolling near the main water trough and bowed saying in Variag, “Welcome to Ûniarra Nûrn, best of sirs.”

Thinking it no more than a greeting he returned the gesture, “Thank you. May the High smile on you.”

Saying anything was quite forward of a peasant but the man continued, “The High are favored among right-living.” 

Nag Kath got a better look at his face and said, “Indeed, Orlo is generous in his blessings.”

The man smiled and finished, “I am sure old friends would like your tidings if you have a moment to share them.”

“I shall make a point of that.”

The fellow bowed slightly and offered a small, woven reed charm. Nag Kath handed him a groat to make this look like he had favored an unfortunate. When he had a chance, the Elf told his company that old friends were here and he would take time to meet them when he could.

That turned out to be easy. Hurm Rydovosh spent his mornings with his soldiers so the guests fended for themselves. With leisure, some of them passed the time talking about the installations needed at the foul pool. Others curried the horses and took the chance to inspect the local mounts. They were not as bushy as the Rhûn horses but had not fallen far from the tree. As Reyald explained; they were cart horses, but closer to cavalry than marching.

______________-------______________

Dinner that night was started with the next round of gift giving. This lot was more practical with saddles one of the donkeys carried. They sported finely tooled leather with the same set of crests for both western rulers. On short notice, the Steward of Nûrn and two aides came to represent Hurm Aômul and received almost identical gifts from the strange, generous travelers. There was also a lengthy discussion of the battle that created this new land. Most of that was news to all the westerners. Hearing the changeling had meddled in affairs was not the same as causing wars. The man was too modest. All the while there was more drinkable ale, more mystery stew and they were abed not long after dark.

Late the next morning, one of the Hurm’s aides came to collect the leading guests to meet with Rydovosh and Aômul’s man and the interpreter. Nag Kath recognized them from from the Mordor campaign dinner. Rydovosh gave the floor to the Nûrn steward who had a little Westron himself. The man put his hands on his knees and growled, “We thank you for your gifts. What do you seek in exchange?”

This had been rehearsed. Unthold explained, “Only friendship, honored legate. We wish you to know that you have friends in the west and that old troubles are behind us.” That was easy to believe. No one hated Sauron more than these men.

Rydovosh clearly respected the northern Hurm’s envoy and they spoke for a moment. Then he continued with unexpected humility, “We cannot offer fine gifts in exchange. This man …” pointing at Nag Kath, “ … knows of our lands.”

Nag Kath said, “You are young places, only just free of our shared enemies. That alone is basis for good terms.”

The two Mordorans spoke again a little longer this time. Steward Worscha nodded gravely and said, “Then it is accepted in such spirit. Is there no token we can offer?”

They knew this was coming too. Face required that they make a reciprocal gesture. After considering dinner the other night, Cristigir of the Elves said, “There is, Your Lordships. We enjoyed succulent meals with spices and herbs not known to us. I am sure many would value such things. Perhaps supplies can be brought over the mountains as trade.”

Nag Kath would ask if they had Red Colish and burney roots too. In the meantime, letting the Hurms give away weeds answered the forms conveniently. As much as they wanted could be gathered by the time the embassy left.

All was going well. Enough Westron percolated through the local tongue that most members of their troop could talk with soldiers and townsmen who had been told to present their best faces. One of those was a small boy who weaved his way through the tall strangers to reach Nag Kath, saying in Plainstongue, “Your pardon, best of sirs. Can I interest you in small woven charms?”

“Why yes.”

The youngster was so excited he skipped two lines of his script, “I am sure mother has the type you wish at home if you will come this way.”

Looking as bored as he could, the Elf waved to his lads that he would be back in a while. The youngster took him a half block south, away from the river. Making sure no one was looking; he slipped in an alley and double-backed two buildings to a modest brick home. The door opened from the inside and shut after the Elf entered as the boy continued down the lane.

The fellow who approached him before was pouring cool tea from a thick jug. It was made at night to avoid daytime fires in the hot home. Drinking water from the delta was not wise. If you had to boil it, you may as well flavor it. Another man was already holding a mug in his lap.

The sitting man said in good Variag, “Hello Nag Kath.”

Handed a mug, the Elf sat in the last chair and said, “And to you, sir. Have we met?”

“Once. I am Borandil, a helper in Hanvas Tur. Not important then or now.”

“Forgive me for not remembering. I hope things go well in that blessed place.”

“Rather well since you scoured the Nûrnen. We have flourished. Curtish and I come here as merchants, bringing things they don’t need for money we don’t get; a fair exchange.”

Curtish finished with tonight’s tea pot and added lightly, “It leaves us time for contemplation.”

The men Nag Kath signaled would cover for him at council. Stomach complaints were common among both locals and guests so excuses did not need imagination. Meeting the two right-livers was pure chance. They had arrived a few days before to observe and would have left a week later. Seeing the Dúnedain scholar, even with his new hairstyle, was too good to pass. They gave him a thorough report on the cause and Khand. The summit with the Bror and Khagan went smoothly. Almost nothing was settled but it was the first time rulers of those lands had met since Sauron. 

The Khagan’s second son was becoming a problem. His tastes were hard to disguise. Critical comments about his father eased slightly when the two Visitor spies were apprehended. The fanatical soldier resisted his interrogators, to their enjoyment. The diplomat negotiated a quicker end. Transcripts of their comments found the ears of friends. Alas, Nag Kath’s clever map was lost.

He told them of the temple seal in Pelargir. Curtish knew more of Gelansor than the soldierly Borandil and listened intently to the inverted ward against Sauron’s menace. There were probably more. He sketched the flagstones as well as he remembered them and asked about the symbolism of the counting rack. Neither man knew of his enchantment in the false garden. He did not mention it. They would meet again tomorrow after the men spoke with other Righters here at great risk. 

When he got back to the square, he hadn’t missed a thing.

______________-------______________

Tonight was the third and last presentation of gifts. In the greater Nûrnen, good things came in threes. The Elves offered silver spurs with gold filigree for both western Hurms with their names elegantly engraved. Men of the west gave them both finely crafted horns with silver fittings; Kingly clarions for men who would be heard! Rydovosh insisted on blowing his but only managed a spitting ‘blat’ without practice. It didn’t matter. The Hurm and Steward laughed uproariously. 

It was time to mention the small matter to the west. Nag Kath said, “My Lords, the enemy left a mess just over the mountains. We may need to bring men along this side of the ridge to make it safe. Do you know who rules those hills?”

The two Lords, sitting side-by-side, looked at each other for a minute. Then Worsha replied, “No one. Small tribes. Our new friends can do as they like.”

So much for their prepared negotiations! Shaking off the surprise, Unthold said, “We will keep you informed.”

There was no need for a lad to fetch him the next morning but they had to wait for some old-fashioned healing. The local diet was running through Faramir’s men as soon as it entered. With years on the aqueduct, they had the right healer who brought the right remedies. A few of the Elves gurgled too.

After some wrong turns and the ‘fast’ to reach the little home unobserved, he found both men having cold tea along with a woman covered head to foot as local females must. Curtish said, “Nag Kath, this is Mrs. Ilpoul.”

The Elf bowed and greeted her in Variag. She replied in a deep, soothing voice, “And you, best of sirs.” They found a fourth chair for today. 

She was here to answer one question, “Mrs. Ilpoul, this is a drawing I made of the floor stones of an Yvsuldor Temple in a great city to the west.” Flipping to another sheet, “And this is what it replaced. Have you ever seen either of those designs?”

“Fül we see many times. The first, no.” He turned the thin first sheet so she could see it through the paper. “Yes, Orlo, but the old one. Mr. Curtish, this is more your area.”

Curtish needed spectacles too. He squinted at the faint drawing in the poor light and said, “I see it now. Is it of moment?”

“It was a pattern placed over a troll nest by right-livers over a thousand years ago to keep the beasts from rising. When it was destroyed, they woke. 

Borandil recalled, “I saw a building once below Lhûg that had the evil one over a door lintel. There was a large hole in the floor. The blocks had been used for other things. An egg no one wants to hatch?”

“A big one. And the counting rack?”

Mrs. Ilpoul said, “It signifies nothing, but it is similar to the little looms women much further east use to weave the patches they make their clothes with. I do not know more than that.”

They spoke this time of people he knew. Idgshtok married a fat Khandian woman who now had a fat baby on her hip. They weren’t sure what he was doing but it seemed to pay. Shelturn stayed mostly to the center learning more of himself. Nenwûla of the Viersh had an admirer and had almost forgiven herself for compounding Nag Kath’s sorcerous laxative. Both men thought that hilarious. Mrs. Ilpoul did not smile, but then, she never smiled. The Ghur’s were well.

Nag Kath asked, as if throwing it in with no weight, “And Chûran? How has she fared?”

Borandil thought for a moment and said, “Well, I think. After the battle she spent nearly a year in thought at Hanvas Tûr and then returned to her home refreshed. Perhaps the ending here brought succor.”

Nag Kath thought; two endings.

The men were to give his best to the scholars and Nag Kath made his way back to the barrack. On the way, a young lad approached and said in Mordoran, “Someone would like to thank you, sir best.”

The Elf nodded slowly and followed. This boy made no effort to conceal his movements and even waved to a friend fetching water at the well. They left the city proper towards a large field with a few of the shaggy horses fattening for the winter. At a small barn with its own paddock stood a man with his back to them telling an identical lad to shut the gate. He turned. A disfiguring scar down the front of his face did not keep him from smiling. Could it be? Why not?

In halting Mordoran Plainstongue, which is halting indeed, he told the boys to go help their mother. Then he rasped in Westron, “I did as you said and bought horses.”

“Indeed you did Ghougash. Indeed you did.”

The former orc still had the bowlegged gait of his kind but in mannish clothes and a hat to cover his scalp, he passed for the hardened war veteran he was. The tall Elf and short man walked along the rails quietly. Then Ghougash said, “I marry widow, her two sons. Make horses, sell. Good.”

“So I see. Are you well?”

“Pain. Not young. Old man pain. A small price.”

Nag Kath wondered for himself if there would be any more children for the happy couple. It did not matter. He had done an unselfish thing to bring a fellow survivor of the dark lords into the light. He would be proud for the rest of his life. They sat on the top rail of the pig pen and watched the river. There wasn’t much else to say. If what the right-livers believed was true, the world was better for this.

______________-------______________

Phylless managed to entertain herself for the two months he was gone, a short trip in Kathian measure. She introduced Tal to Marletta. Of the same age and sense of humor, they got on famously. Ardatha was busy thinking of their trip north next year but would not miss Thursday tea. 

Ardatha’s big news was that the aide of Dol Amroth came to their home for dinner. After the meal, Shurran announced he had things to do, which he actually did, and the Conaths left their daughter and guest alone in the garden to discuss whatever young people discuss. Ardatha said the next morning she almost tied a string to the girl’s ankle to keep her from floating away. Eniecia divulged nothing of the exchange but it must have gone well. Nag Kath wondered; could it be that Queen Nepthat would continue on among us? 

It was militia time. Nag Kath asked for and was granted the honor of teaching the children not to shoot each other with padded arrows. One kid, smaller than the rest, always hit what he aimed at. He told the boy’s parents and gave them the bow and arrows instead of putting them back in the supply bag. The changeling shot some with the Second to keep his eye. It had been long enough that a new man was tempted to wager until older hands set him wise. Reyald was up-to-speed with the property business. He and Mülto hired a full-time manager and a secretary since they had either duties or retirement on their respective plates. The new man was a Tumlen of the west.

Elessar Telcontar of the Reunited Kingdom graciously accepted his bag of Mordor herbs and gave them to his cooks to see if they could manage something. The main reason for going was to assess the work needed at the beast pool. Inquiries were being made in Harad. Over the winter Nag Kath and Hurnadlan of Ithilien would draft the plan for the equipage and quarters needed. It was familiar ground.

The rest of the time, the newlyweds spent doing whatever they wanted. Bored without a project, Nag Kath decided he would put some spare time into another mural, this time by himself except for buying the paint from Feurgil across the river. It was a project that would live as long as he stayed in Middle-earth. In Emyn Arnen he slyly got Lord Faramir to show what Boromir looked like from an old drawing his father the Steward commissioned when the his eldest was about twenty. There were a lot more of Boromir than Faramir in their youth. The two sons were obviously related but could have been cousins. The Elf burned the image into his brain. Frodo’s picture he saw in the Red Book along with a spate of relatives. He now had all of the faces he needed to memorialize the Fellowship of the Ring. Where should it go? 

There was a sheer rock face on the third level just below his home that had never been rebuilt after an orc trebuchet flattened a three-story house. It created a wide space in the switchback that locals used for eating in good weather. Kathen Properties quietly bought the little park.

Nag Kath did not tell anyone about this, not even Phylless. He just said he had an art project and would explain when it was ready. That was fine by her. He was only there three or four days a week and always home by dinner. The sketch seemed to take forever. The men were tall. The Hobbits were, well, Hobbits. Gimli was perhaps a foot taller and broad as a tavern. Arranging them on paper was almost as bad as herding children into their family portrait. Should they be stern or glad or heroic? Boromir’s tale didn’t end well. He would be honored anyway.

When he finally got a sketch he could stand, Nag Kath had one of Mülto’s crews put up a fence around the area for privacy. Folk thought someone was finally going to build in the uneconomic little dent. In a way, they were right. The work was about twice real size, so, much smaller than the garden mural. 

When the Elf came home stinking of pitch-paint, Phyll washed him gently and snuggled on the couch to compare their days. On one of them she had wandered by the brewer’s sector on the first north of the prow, not far from the healers. They could not smell that on their side but when she was close, she was home. As it happened, her family knew the yeaster who worked here. He was a grim, untalkative fellow but she enjoyed the single visit. 

Overall she was adapting well, thanks to the instant supply of old friends. Phylless also learned a lot about her husband. Nag Kath never told his own stories as well as everyone else. He spoke even less of his little kindnesses. She was starting to press on his secret painting too.

It was ready at the end of November. Nag Kath had the building crew remove the fence by torchlight so the painting would be there at dawn. It was a sensation. The Hobbits were happy, the men were soldierly, the wizard was wise and the Dwarf was hairy, hard faces to capture; Dwarves. It was a family portrait with the small in front and tall behind. Around it he installed stone tables and benches for folks to enjoy themselves with a fair view over the rail towards Osgiliath. Flagstones circled a curious eastern mosaic.

A few days later Tim came by Nag Kath’s house and shouted up at the bedroom window, “You old rascal!”

The Elf opened the window and called, “Thought you would like it.”

“I am jealous. Now I will have to do something.”

It was said Aragorn came to look at the dark haired Ranger. He had not commissioned many works of himself. As Kings of the world, his ancestors chipped their faces on every rock in view. This Lord was more modest. His was not a grim, gray, intimidating scowl. It was the face of a man who had done his best and done it well.

Grand-da was famous for leaping through the air and stabbing a troll. Now he was famous for painting the most celebrated expedition of an age. That was enough for him to join Eniecia along with Aunt Phylless, Ardatha and Tal for lunch on the fifth. Her girlishness stayed longer than hard-put lasses. Cultivated; she had time to blossom. She and Caladrion were forming a bond. There were few sudden marriages at their age and station in life. Some had been arranged before the baby-teeth fell out. Cal’s term as aide would end next spring with Ambassador Vertandigir’s appointment and he would be a full Lieutenant in Dol Amroth’s professional defense. He made enough of an impression that he might also serve his King from here, but home seemed more likely. 

Ardatha thought that terribly far away but understood. Dol Amroth was rougher than ferries on the river but with the pirates under heel, not a treacherous voyage. They must return to Dale next year. If the young man from Belfalas asked for her hand, marriage would have to come afterwards.

The new dining trend was Khandian food. You could always get that on the first but up here on the fifth it was somehow more fashionable. As it was served, the young dancer surreptitiously watched Phylless’ every move. She recognized in her a woman of passion. She wanted to be a woman of passion, with her man, with life, with whatever she did. Ardatha’s movements were efficient. Phylless, Tal and her grandmother Eniece were languid. Something as simple as raising a scarf over their heads started ever so slowly and finished with a flourish. Eniecia practiced elegant movements almost as if dancing. Men notice such women, even if the women have no idea. 

The meal went well went well until the bumbling Uncle Nag stepped in it as badly as on the trail to Edoras! Through the herbed-lamb, the women referenced romance as if describing someone else. He blurted to Eniecia, “So, when are you going to marry the fellow?”

Shurran came close to asking twice at home but buttoned his lips at the last moment. Now this! Everyone else had the breeding to hint. She was only just eighteen! Wasn't it up to Caladrion to pop the question? Forty possible comments passed behind Eniece’s eyes before she said primly, “No one else has asked that, grandfather.”

The best defense is a good offense. In the Elf Lord voice she hadn't heard before, he declared, “That is because they treat you like a child. You are the grown grand-daughter of Kings!”

Eniecia realized she had just received the highest compliment of her life. All other praise had been in service of preparation, urging progress towards what she might become. She would become it now! The greatest hero of her lifetime told her to claim what she wanted. Phylless wasn’t sure if the girl would breathe again. When she did, Eniecia sat up in her chair and replied with confidence, “Yes, I am.” 

That was that. The next time the young people met, she must have twisted his ear until he confirmed his feelings for her. A man can only drag his feet so long before the best deal of his life is gone. By December, a simple announcement was made that Countess Eniecia Conath, daughter of Reyald of Buhr Austar and Ardatha, Princess of Dale was engaged to Caladrion Ivandred, officer of Dol Amroth with details to follow. Tal had Nag Kath to tea the next week. She looked at him proudly and said, “What a team we make!”

“They never had a chance.”

Not quite as importantly, men who were not allowed to use torches rummaged through the King’s stores looking for the crate from Orthanc. They found it and Mr. Doroust was engaged to produce the finest Syndolan rockets. Several packets of each color were sent to Nag Kath in a box of Gandalf’s abandoned projects. 

Caladrion and Eniecia had several formal outings beforehand but Uncle Nag’s Syndolan party was their first unstructured public event. The gathering was the usual rambunctious affair. No one got maudlin or made speeches. A new Dwarf couple had fine voices and were taught Catanales by southern residents. The King’s fireworks were the best ever. Ecc and Tal both stayed in against a very cold night.

Best of all, Phylless was the Neurae. Their wedding was too close the last time for her to take on that role. Syndolan was not as widely celebrated on the river as it was further north but with a year in the White City, she sparkled. When the guests left, she snuggled. 

______________-------______________

Year 38 of the Fourth Age started a period for Nag Kath much like his years in Dale. He traveled more, but seldom into the unknown and usually with the adventurous Phylless. Their first trip was back to Dale with the Conath’s. Reyald needed to meet the King, see family and feel the earth of his homeland. 

This was Phylless’ first long road trip. She fancied herself a rider, being out as much as a day in the rolling hills above Pelargir. A week of constant travel, swatting mosquitoes and wearing dirty clothes was an adjustment but she was fine by the time they reached Rohan. Dornlas and Annlie never seemed to change. He got old fast and stayed that way but was still fit and a reliable sword. They had two grandchildren and another in the oven. 

King Éomer didn’t ask about wargs this time but he was fascinated with tales of Mordor. Queen Lothíriel was enchanted by the bride-to-be, engaged to the handsome young hero of her home. She told Eniecia she would fit right in. Prince Elfwine and Princess Tillith were in residence and they welcomed her kind from the Buhrs just as warmly.

Two days later they were on their way to Mirkwood, not stopping to ask after wizards. It was slow going with rain and took nine days to get through the forest. The mortals were dead tired and thought themselves fortunate to find the last two rooms at an inn when the reached the Anduin Road with plans to do some serious sleeping. After getting his wife settled, Nag Kath went back to the common stable for his heavy bag.

The lad hurried over to help, favoring his left leg.

Injuries can happen at any time in life and it isn’t good manners to notice, but this wasn’t a long-term limp. The Elf asked, “Got a bad wheel?”

The youngster was good-natured about it, “Stepped on a nail a couple days back – put it right through my foot.”

Rusty nails and horse dougsh are not a good combination. Nag Kath offered, “I am a healer. I can have a look if you like.”

The boy considered that, “I cannot pay you.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Take off your boot.”

The boy sat on a bale and painfully untied his laces. Yes, it was infected – the sort of wound that would soon fester. Nag Kath took the foot in his hand and said, “I hope you aren’t squeamish.”

Silver hands glowed over the swollen hole with more time than the Elf expected to draw the poison. Throughout, the lad seemed more interested than shocked. Nag Kath took a clean sock from the bag he came out to collect and tossed it to him saying, “I’ve get a few remedies inside, and I’ll need to do that again tomorrow to make sure the wound drains.”

At this point the hole in his foot didn’t hurt any less but the puffiness was already smaller and less purple. The stable-hand carefully put his boot back on and smiled a painful smile in relief. The Elf carried the bag in himself.

Emmert’s Haven was the same sort of inn you found everywhere on this stretch of highway. Business was good tonight. Emmert junior served all travelers, a fine host for the folk who plied the Iron Hills to Anduin route. The room was clean and a warm dinner was just the thing after way-bread and water.

Family was sound asleep so Nag Kath stayed downstairs and got a pint of a fair local tan, telling his careworn wench that he only wanted bread and vegetables. A few other travelers came down to join twenty townsmen and women just completing their labors. Not long after, six Dwarves helped themselves to a large table near the door. They camped outside, leaving their menthivs (sons) to guard their goods while the elders fortified for the night. 

The longbeards kept to themselves. Tan beer went down as quickly as their preferred red. About the right time in the evening, one of the local men began singing ‘Carry Me Home’, often the first song of the night. By the second verse, most of the room was lustily contributing in varying pitch. Oddly, the Dwarves did not join the traditional, inoffensive ballad, instead staring and mumbling to themselves in their own Khuzdul. They would certainly know the tune and always spoke good Westron.

That was their business. The Elf took his mug to the bar since his server was swamped. While he was standing there, one of the Dwarves glowered his way. Mug charged, Nag Kath was returning to his table when the longbeard bellowed, “The company here leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

The song died quickly as a pall descended over the room. Nag Kath noticed too but sat down and had another sip. The Dwarf repeated, “I said the company here is too womanish for my taste.” That was followed by a swig, a burp and another stare.

In his long history with Durin’s Folk, the Elf had learned a few things about their social skills. Sometimes one or more of a group would be aggressive but nothing would come of it as older, wiser heads prevailed. Ignoring them wouldn’t work though. This had to be acknowledged. How was a delicate matter. Thankfully, Reyald and Shurran were snoring upstairs with swords sheathed.

Nag Kath raised his mug as if he had misheard the insult. Alas, confusion spells probably wouldn’t work on Dwarves. Magic seldom did. The Dwarf table was between him and upstairs or outside. He started eating again when the fellow stood, nearly as broad as tall. He was clad in good cloth and sported a fine, forked beard reaching his belt – a sign of seniority. Diners and drinkers quickly drifted towards the edges of the room or out the door, except for those who would not part with ale they paid for under any circumstance.

The changeling said evenly, “You seem upset, friend. Yet you dine among folk of good cheer.”

The Dwarf put his hands on his hips. Fortunately, their axes were stashed at their camp, but they would have a lethal assortment of smaller weapons secreted in sleeves, boots and surprising places. The Elf’s sword was on his bag by his feet.

The longbeard said with a miner’s accent, “You are not welcome here. I would tell you to leave, but I'd rather teach you a lesson first.”

It was time to see his cards, “Brave talk at six-to-one, Ghazd (boy, in this case, an insult). If your parents were married, one of them might have explained that.”

That was a terrible rebuke, enough to have the antagonist run across the now empty floor. Since a fight was coming, Nag Kath needed to know if the others were behind him or if he was acting on his own. None of the others stood. All were old enough to sourly remember Elves abroad in the world even if men had nearly forgotten. The changeling took another pull of his beer. It was the Dwarf’s move.

The longbeard walked to the center of the room and pronounced for all to hear, “Doesn’t take more than one to settle accounts with a beardless elger (Elf).”

So; a single hothead. Good. No one had to die. Nag Kath reluctantly rose, scraping the feet of his chair as the back of his knees pushed it away. Then, to the surprise of everyone in the tavern, he sat down again laying his naked sword on the table next to what looked like a dead groundhog. The tall stranger took another swig of his ale paying no attention to the antagonist.

Every eye was glued on the blonde at first but then glances drifted to the belligerent Dwarf standing alone on the planks. Murmurs rose. One of his company started to snicker. Dwarves don’t snicker well so after one snick, it became a guffaw. The aggressor turned back to his table to gauge the situation and they started laughing. As Dwarves often do in times of contemplation, the fighter reached for his beard. It wasn’t there! He looked down and saw his tunic for the first time in years.

Knowing his fellows were not in the mood for a brawl, the former longbeard howled and stormed out the front door with a flurry of Dwarvish oaths. Nag Kath called to the bar, “Innkeeper, another pitcher for my friends from the mountains halls!”

Normally the Elf would check on Phyll but he didn’t want Durin’s Folk to know he had vulnerable family upstairs so he slowly quaffed his beer to get see what they did. After a minute, the crowd was talking again – just another squabble in a place you should expect them. Then the grayest Dwarf came over with his mug and sat uninvited. Neither of them said anything, sipping and staring at the heap of beard next to the scratched Elvish blade. Finally, the Dwarf said softly, “Twas you melted the ring to Stonehelm’s wrath?”

“Aye.”

“We have parted ways with Erebor as well.”

“I hear the King loses favor.”

“It was time to find new places.” He smiled, “New customers!”

Nag Kath said neutrally. “Will I need that sword when I walk outside?”

“One always needs a sword in the hard places of the world. I will have a word with my nephew tonight. We of the road have more in common than he realizes.”

To gauge the sentiment the changeling ventured, “Was it me or my kind?”

“Neither. Like you, we have lost our home. That rankles with Durin’s Folk, much as it must have after the dragon.” He looked glumly at the beard on the table, “Thank you for cutting something that will grow back. I am Kholus. Should we meet again, we meet as friends.” 

The Dwarves were gone by the time Phyll stretched and smiled with the sun. Nag Kath attended the stable-boy’s foot and collected the Conaths on the way north. 

______________-------______________

The first stop at home was the Carstors. Nag Kath was not the featured guest this time either with Eniecia sporting a rather valuable engagement band. Family got along wonderfully. From time-to-time, Nag, Reyald and Shurran would walk outside and let the womenfolk chat by themselves. Carstors joined them when he wasn’t officially needed. 

Word was that King Bain and Xondra were expecting a child as well. Carstors grinned, “I am nearly off the hook again! Nag Kath, thank you for the idea of losing my son-in-law. That worked rather cleanly.”

Next was granna Borenne in Lake Town. Her hip was fine, more evidence she and the Nepthat’s of the line had more than a drop of Dúnedain. Seeing her great grandaughter as a woman gave them both pause and made the dear lady wish she could remember her own mother. Uncle Nag sketched them together twice.

He and Phylless took the family to the restored bell-tower where Ardatha’s great grandfather slew the dragon. The Princess had walked by it thousands of times but had never gone up. She didn’t want to this time either but her children raced up the steps like they were twelve. Eniecia had never been up here either. Brother showed her Smaug’s angle of approach and she stood where Bain the First had, imagining the shot in his mind’s eye. They were of Dale. It was in the blood.

Torrold and Gerda had already arrived for the Thainmoot along with Reyald and Ardatha’s oldest, Haldiera, her husband Gerruld and their two children. The youngest, Gerrulath, was finally old enough to ride a small horse and did better than the boy who had a wicked pair of saddle sores. Uncle Nag saw to that discreetly. They were in the family apartment so Reyald’s family stayed with Nag Kath they way they always did. Ros arranged a cook and maid within the day as everyone started renewing acquaintances.

Brenen and Nedille were their usual selves. His breathing was not good but not worse either and he said he was walking regularly. A place in the country he bought with Bard helped. Grandbabies were holding at six, which is still a handful. Bren’s mother Aleurn was now in her eighties and lived in the little home just below theirs. Her sight was poor but was still good enough to rule the roost when she minded her great grandchildren. She did not cook much.

Burry looked the same. His grandchild count was holding as well. He moved a little slower from a lifetime of soldiering but was his hearty self. Lola was always a love. Nag Kath told them he was only here for a few weeks but they would manage a pint or two once the schedule was settled by those in charge. The Elf admitted the monthly silver was from Kathen. He did not know if he would make it back here when he told the bank. Now it seemed he would do it often.

Nag Kath took a little while to visit long acquaintances in craft. Master Golord never seemed to change. As long as Dwarves lived, they stood still compared to the men around them. He was fine. They talked about the same things and his old customer told him of upset on the road.

“I know Kholus. He is a great, great-grandson to one of Thorin Oakenshield’s aunts – on her mother’s side. That family would have mattered a deal more if Dain hadn’t inherited the Arkenstone. He took it well. I can’t speak for the nephew. A forkbeard?”

“Used to be.”

Golord chuckled, “The current Thorin has kept favor largely to the Iron Hills clan.” The great artisan shook his head more grimly, “They are not always the most capable of his peoples. I wish those leaving peace.”

The Elf’s next trip was business. Swordsmith Monteg pulled the Elvish blade out of the scabbard and said, “Looks like the rock put up a good fight.”

Nag Kath told him the tale. It was already known but another thing to see the sword that stuck the troll. Monteg said, “Give me a week. I will never get these deep gouges out, but it did not really hurt the edge.” When Nag Kath got home he took Lord Altheras’ weapon out of storage. It needed considerable silt-buffing for rust but cleaned to a fine gleam. It was the wrong weight for him. Someone should carry this rather than letting it tarnish in a closet. 

The next day he dropped by the original Kathen Properties with Shur. Barthanid and Turenon were there and glad to see them. They were the managing partners now. Brenen still came by on his walks but to catch Bard you had to find him. He would be around now that the family was in town. 

Shurran asked as directed, “Oh, Bart, did you get those things at Nag’s?”

“The women’s clothes? I took them by but Grace was at work. I left them on the doorstep.” So much for Nag Kath’s grand matchmaking! He should have told the young man to take the lass in his arms and make the point that way. He would if he got another chance. She might already be married.

King Bain was busy with the Thainmoot but did see his cousins to congratulate Eniecia on her nuptials. Xondra was in her confinement and healthy and wished her best. Between the moot, family and friends, Nag Kath’s house was a hive of activity, not much of it to do with him. With time to burn, he saw the Brightens brothers, had the beer with Burry and finally met Bard back from his and Bren’s shared lodge out the Erebor road. Ros was fine. 

There was another walk to take. He waited until everyone else was busy. The same quiet, dark woman opened the peep-screen and admitted him. Nag Kath always appreciated the mix of local and eastern furnishings here where he met Prince Voranush now some years ago. The owner came out and bowed, knowing his guest knew better than to touch hands. He didn’t say anything either. Nag Kath merely said in Khandian, “Should a traveler reach his Excellency, I wanted him to know that our visit was satisfactory.” 

Considering things Variag, he and Shur were sitting on the porch watching the little beetles that could light for a few seconds weaving their courtship patterns out of the grass. Shur said, “Do you suppose she is still here?”

Not taking his gaze from the bugs, Uncle Nag mused, “Her or one like her … be hard to chase the whole family out of the house.” When Shurran said nothing, Nag Kath added, “Pelighur, seventeen, Alley of the Arrow. You might say Ostren referred you. Don’t wear your best.”

Shur repeated, “Seventeen.”

Just thinking of that made Nag Kath take Phylless by the elbow up to the comfortable Khandian carpet beside the bed. Shurran said he was going to visit new friends after dinner. His parents told him to be in early.

______________-------______________

Nag Kath had nothing to do with the Thainmoot. With the Conath’s occupied he wandered through the town with Phylless seeing old things. An unexpected, though not especially old, thing was Graciel who was having a snack in front of the little store she minded two days a week. They recognized each other at the same time and he walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek saying “Hello Grace. Phyll, this is Graciel Iömendel …”

She said, “Still is.”

“Grace, this is my wife Phylless.”

With the vast majority of men in the world, this would be the very definition of awkward. For Nag Kath it did not signify at all. He had no secrets with women and Phyll could guess what she didn’t know. Attempts at discretion early in his life had all failed miserably so he didn’t bother anymore.

The two women bowed slightly in what Phyll had learned was the Dalish fashion and neither glowered. To know Nag Kath was to understand. He said, “We are up with Shur and the family for the moot. How are you?”

“Good. About the same and that’s good. I heard about the troll. Did your slow swords help?”

He laughed, “Probably! We didn’t practice that.”

Phylless took charge, “Graciel, we were just about to get tea. Can you join us?” She could accept or gracefully decline.

Grace looked around the shop. Seeing no customers lurking she said, “That would be lovely.” The tea shop was right across the street so she could keep an eye on business.

A pot of the local blend was ordered with finger biscuits. Phyll studied her husband’s most recent love. Yes, she was lovely. He said she needed ten years more seasoning. That was what Phyll brought to the marriage. Pity about the young property manager. Nag Kath didn’t see the delay as an impediment and launched his re-emersion into Dale, “I’ve got the whole brood at my place. It is too big until it isn’t. How is Lilac?”

“Her da paid her husband off just like you did mine, for a good deal more.” She still lives at the hill-house with little Reillen. We see each other now and again.”

He remembered their only connection was their now ex-husbands. With Grace in mind he mused, “I would think she has admirers.” Phyll nearly kicked him under the table for his lack of empathy.

Grace giggled, “I think there is a fellow working his courage up. She's in no rush.”

Phyll now saw the design. Graciel continued, “That was sweet of you to send Bart. Sorry I missed him.”

The Elf took a long pull of tea and said, “You haven’t.”

Both women said at the same time, “Oh, you are terrible!”

He gave Phyll a very tender kiss on the cheek and said, “What would Tal do?”

Grace saw the sweetness and asked, “Who is Tal?”

Phyll would manage things from here, “She was his first love, a dear woman and notorious matchmaker. She and the Elf here combined to get his grand-daughter engaged.”

Grace knew the answer but she asked anyway, “Are all your former loves friends?”

He said thoughtfully, “They seem to like each other.”

Grace said just as gently, “If Bart needs anything at the store, I hope he says hello.” 

Just then a woman walked into the linen shop. Grace had left it unlocked so she said her goodbyes and bustled across the lane to help. Phylless bit the end off a finger cake and followed it with a long pull of her tea now that the temperature was just right. Dabbing her mouth with the cloth she asked, “Bart is the tall one?”

“Umhumm.” 

She asked seriously, “And he’s not looking for a blushing virgin?”

“That leaves too much to chance.”

“What is your plan to have them cross paths again?”

“Oh, I’ll just tell him to come down here at the closing bell and take her out for dinner. He’s on his own after that.” 

The next two weeks went by at leisure. Lords of the realm were to and fro with the moot and business deals that went with them. The Easterlings were behaving but the Bror never really had complete control of his least productive lands east of the Redwater. Dalish militias never forgot that. Phylless found Hobbits curious. They had such extraordinary manners! Lotold and Lorens now had the full heads of curly gray hair their old Uncle Stifo had when he first met them. They ate with the Hobbit wives in the one tall room of their home and talked about what had changed in Dale. The Dwarves came out of the mountain less to trade and some had left for good; politics or some-such.

Both brothers decided that ale was only for after five except for special occasions, a truce, of sorts, with their better halves. There was less word from distant relatives in the Shire. The Fellowship Hobbits were now mayor, master and Thain and still in their prime so all was well. Nag Kath told them about the trolls. They couldn’t imagine anything finer than Phyll making yeast for the most heavenly of beverages!

On the way home she said, “I can see why you come back.” They strolled hand in hand back to his house and watched a messenger swing off his horse and run in. He kept walking and took her to the King’s Arrow Inn for a quiet night alone.

The Thainmoot adjourned. That was more and more about commerce. King Bain added an extra meeting this year just to talk about militia training. He wanted to be sure that their disparate methods would still work together in a pinch. The Eastern Thainholds practiced that way.

Nag Kath left Phylless with Ardatha and sauntered down to Kathen. Bart was there with his assistant who, with a wink from the Elf, was sent on an errand to the other side of town. Without preamble the Elf said, “Bart, you need to go to the linen shop on Vorandus Lane next Monday at the six-bell.”

“Do I need new sheets?”

“Grace works there. You should take her out for a lamb dinner.”

“Gracie Iömendel?”

“Yup”

Barthanid bit his lip slightly and said, “I thought you …” 

For most men, the idea that a former lover would not care if someone they knew visited their old patch was rare, especially in traditional Dale. Many men also believed the only women one actually kept were either untouched or respectably widowed. That probably kept the stunner unattached for so long. Nag Kath doubted Bart fell in that camp. 

Uncle Nag said, “I was. She needs to stay here. I can’t do that anymore.” There was a little of the Elf Lord in the last statement. Bart hadn’t heard that before. Nag Kath could have just used a confusion spell but the man deserved free-will.

“Monday?”

“Or Tuesday.”

A chaste lass Bart had been considering didn’t seem very bright and he didn’t like her parents. If Nag Kath said he should buy a beautiful, if somewhat experienced, woman a lamb dinner, he would. He liked lamb. On the way home Nag Kath thought he hadn’t seem much of Shurran either.

______________-------______________

There was one last piece of business. The Elf and Reyald walked up from Torrold’s residence to the palace and were admitted on sight. King Bain, Rosscranith and another minister Nag Kath hadn’t met were waiting in the King’s office. They both bowed and took chairs. The Elf went through the witch-pool, Pelargir and what was known about Angmar. This was old news, most of it forwarded by Reyald through the post messenger.

Bain mostly listened. Rosscranith said, “The orcs on this side don’t say much but they still take the fish. It could also be that the Dwarves hear more than they say. They are more closed than before. Better than a hundred of them left for new horizons last fall. It seems you met a few.”

The King asked, “What of the other side?”

Reyald said, “Nothing, for now, Sire. Angmar is causing no trouble.”

Nag Kath added, “And we would not know what we seek. More might be learned in Ithilien. That could take years.”

The Minister Solvain was known to Reyald. He remarked, “It is a very long way to go and stay, even from Fornost.”

Reyald confirmed, “That is the thinking of our allies. Let us be watchful. Stonehelm is first in line. Do you get any sense they feel trouble?”

Rosscranith stared at the table for a moment and said, “That is the trouble, Reyald. As Nag Kath found, with power they become more isolated. That has been the history of their people long before us. Then they wonder why no one comes to their aid. My friends among the longbeards here are not included in the councils now. We have not even seen the Prince in a year, and he is their ambassador.” He looked at Nag Kath with a combination of gravity and humor, "It seems the mood of those leaving is not merry."

Solvain said, “We do not think they mean us any harm. They just want to be left alone, save for trade. The Iron Hills aren’t so stand-offish, but they are not close to Angmar.”

Rosscranith chuckled grimly, “In short, our ears are not hearing.”

The King concluded the meeting by saying, “Thank you both for coming and for your efforts, and your best wishes for the Queen. She is fit and strong.”

Nag Kath should have taken his dismissal but asked one more question, “Sire, how fares your mother?”

“She is well too and looking for grandchildren. I will tell her you asked.”

On their way back to Torrold’s Nag Kath got the feeling his use in the Halls of Dale were coming to a close. He was a sword of last resort. Things were going well. If the Elves were right and this was the age of men, they had men.

______________-------______________

The Conath family was both pleased and sad. Everything had gone so well. They knew they would gradually lose touch. Regular post service helped. Granna wrote weekly, even though two or three letters arrived with the same carrier. No one looked forward to getting back more than Eniecia. She had been a dutiful daughter and wanted to see her man. Every hour took an age. 

Shurran was subdued. Thinking of his little sister tying the knot made him consider his future. Nag Kath wondered if he was unsure which Shurran would go courting. Was he a drone-Prince, a builder, a soldier, some combination? No overtures were made in Dale for him to shoulder governance so his future there seemed no better than Uncle Nag’s. Good! He needed to narrow the field.

After a few visits to the Khandian quarter, the young Northman thought he would like to marry. Nag Kath showed there was more to females, and he wasn’t a man at all! The Elf liked passionate women who didn’t think themselves too queenly to make tea at a campfire. Shur knew he could parlay his position well up in provincial nobility but did not see the advantage. Not having to marry for money helped. Da said not to worry there. When the young man decided he would marry the right woman and actively put himself in a position to do so, the weight fell from his shoulders. He was now sure didn’t have to do this for country.

Phylless was just glad to get home. Roughing it was rough. It was nice that she and her husband had a private room at the inn near where the Elves lived but most of the time the tent was crowded. She knew she could do it.


	14. Settling In

**_Chapter 14_ **

**_Settling In_ **

The ladies of the house were happy to see them. They got along well but without the master and mistress installed there wasn’t much to talk about. Tal had a summer cold. Nag Kath fixed that. Mülto’s complaint was becoming chronic. Even with new skills, healers cannot replace what is lost.

Much of their agenda was decided when Cal and Eniecia said they would like to marry that fall in Dol Amroth. Ambassador Vertandigir said he could live without his aide for a while and had a few things to discuss back home in any event. Reyald and Ardatha agreed. Nag Kath and Phylless would go to Pelargir for two weeks and then book passage to Belfalas along with later arrivals from the White City. Reyald and Ardatha would take their son and daughter on the same ferry to Pelargir but keep going to reach Dol Amroth in time to make arrangements.

This was not a royal wedding like the west had seen lately. Eniecia had the blood of Kings and Thains but so did a lot of people and Ardatha had never played that card. They were well respected by Prince Elphir already. One could go no higher in Belfalas.

Tal and Ecc would come. He had never been down the Anduin and she had only been up it. Between them and two of Eniecia’s friends, with one or both of their parents or a chaperone, they had close to half the River Goddess booked for the mid-August run. There was quite a range of ages. Nag Kath imagined the old-folk would play cards and drink in the main salon and the youngsters would do anything to avoid them. 

It would get more interesting on the open water. This was all timed to avoid the winter swells of the sea but even occasional squalls roll and pitch those ships like corks.

Nag Kath and Phyll did not do much in the two months before they left. He painted in watercolors with mixed success. She saw friends. Tim got a big commission for a large horse sculpture near the gate, just the horse, no one on it. They paid in advance.

The Goddess docked a day early. Advanced booking only meant you had space based on the when it got there. That depended on wind and river flow. Everyone’s things were packed in advance and waiting at the Rammas Dock warehouse except for personal items. The people they knew were all in wagons early the next morning and boarded by the eleven-bell.

The ferry was built after the days of river pirates. It was defenseless. If brigands rose again, she would need an escort. That made it very comfortable for civilians. Some brought servants. Phyll did not need to travel with her lady’s maid. They were told by men on deck that some voyagers brought the whole household. No one on this trip had horses.

Nag Kath was always armed when traveling. He shot a few target arrows from the deck just to get the feel under his feet. Men like Caladrion seldom practiced any other way. He figured a warning shot from this distance might discourage the wrong vessel until an old hand said only the slaves were visible. 

Phyll liked going downriver better because the boat didn’t have to tack back and forth with the wind. It just wallowed in the channel and tried to avoid hitting things until docking for the night. Little towns along the north bank serviced that trade for folk who wanted to stretch their legs or to vary the fare. Discreet entertainments were also offered. The day before they made Pelargir, Nag Kath asked permission to climb the mast. No one had ever asked before but he was a paying passenger. He took off his boots and ran up the ratlines faster than anyone expected for a good look at the Telengaur pouring into the Anduin. It seemed the same so he shinnied down.

Official greetings could wait. Most of their party took lodgings at better inns at the wharf waiting for deep-water ships. They would see them in two weeks. 

Vergere almost asked if he could help before he recognized his mistress and the curious suitor. The ladies came running and curtsied before getting their hugs. Phyll thought coming down that it might be time to pension Vergere off now that she had extra coin. Then she thought with her gone most of the time, he was already retired and had never lived anywhere else. 

She hit the pillow face-first and did not move until morning. Nag Kath took his rest alongside. She got used to that fairly soon. Flor never did. With the dawn, he went downstairs. Cook knew she was not expected to serve him at that indecent hour and prepared meals as usual. 

The couple were together every evening and some of the days but attended separate matters too. Phyll saw her friends on the east bank. A husband would have ruined any chance of juicy conversation. He strolled down to the Eärnil Quarter to check on the government. Kieff was seeing to things in the upper provinces but would be back shortly. The governor had him in for a quick tea and a quiet assessment of water quality, which was fairly good. Wells on the outer islands were usable but enterprising folk still sold bilge water from the Sirith at the troughs.

The Quarter of the Faithful was slowly rebuilding. As they thought, beautiful ancient buildings dedicated to long-forgotten men did not generate a lot of donations. Men of Pelargir were proud of their Numenorean roots with lore, not with cash. A balance was struck to sell prime commercial lots to pay for rebuilding homes and stores. Nag Kath said he wanted a look at the temple since he had only seen it intact. Onathal chuckled and said that property might be on the market for a while. Expecting levity in return, the governor was surprised when the Elf said soberly, “If anyone shows too much interest, I’d let Kieff know.” When they met, Nag Kath would tell him to look for red on their collars and men who avoided whisker-fish. Some of those lads would have been in the hinterlands when the hive was destroyed.

Two days after they docked, Phyll took her husband to her parent’s. It was a half-day walk hopping the islands like stepping-stones. They had a good idea when she would be here and rolled out a splendid welcome. An afternoon party was organized for tomorrow with her western friends including; old folk who did not come to the birthday, men and some women of the mill, assorted vendors and a relative everyone told Nag not to talk to. Of course, the fellow dogged his heels speaking with wild arm gestures of fell sorceries bubbling out of the ground – the return of Nazgûl! It would have been cruel to say he was responsible so the changeling listened attentively and impressed all with his tolerance. 

A much smaller group had dinner afterwards and the couple took a walk to digest. There was plenty of room at her parent’s place. Her older sister had died before Phyll was born so her parents always knew they would sell the business someday. Someday seemed to be getting closer and there had been ready buyers for years. A good manager ran the place now so her folks were almost as retired as Vergere.

They stayed three days and would be back in six weeks so they took the long stroll east and she collapsed in her pillow again. Nag Kath wore his worst clothes left here from the last time, things he only wore in case he had to walk home naked, and went to the temple. After nearly a year it still stunk. The flagstones were cleaned and left where they were at his request. He hired a local lad from Jool’s shop to help arrange them as they were. At first the apprentice was frozen in fear but agreed to lay them down so long as he got nowhere near that hole in the ground.

There was nothing new. He looked at both sides of every rock. Fûl and Orlo are nothing alike. The right-livers must have held their noses and cobbled together such stones as they could find to replace the entire circle. The deeper stones formed the pattern and shallow stones disguised it from above. A fiver later, the lad was back at the shop and Nag Kath changed into better togs to visit the store where he got his books. After the horror of the days after the last purchase, the proprietor did not recognize Nag Kath at all. The Elf walked in varying his opening only slightly, “Hello, good sir. I came to see if you carry books.”

“Books?! Of course, we have big ones, old ones, books with pictures!” If there were any, they were still in the bowels of the warehouse. The Elf was sure the man tripped over the same box of surplus tents on his way back. A candle might burn the contents like a Syndolan rocket. When nothing jumped out, the man shouted, “Weldin, better come and lend a hand!” From a sound sleep, a fellow who looked a younger and drunker version of the proprietor wandered over and waited unsteadily for orders. “See if you can find this man some books, will you?”

Mr. Weldin was not selected for the task because he knew were books were stashed. He was there to move boxes. The man spit in his palms and rubbed them together before pulling crates off the top of the stacks. Nag Kath suggested he open some of them just in case. That seemed a capital idea. Finding a pry-bar meant a ten minute search. Nag Kath said he would be back and walked over to a restaurant for nuppers. 

Weldin made progress. Two of the boxes he upheaved did have books or writings in them. The best looking of them were shipping records. Ones the worse for wear were in Syndarin or even Quenya. They were unbound folios with random sheets. In this light even his eyes could not make sense of them but they were interesting enough to start the grueling negotiations.

The proprieter hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and crowed, “As you know, good sir, scholars and the learned put a high premium on these foreign books!”

“Then it is fortunate that you have hidden them so well.”

Somehow their former transaction kept the figure of eight groats apiece in the peddler’s mind. The man raised that to ten, what the expenses of rebuilding across the river and all. The deal was done at a silver-thirty and they even had a bag for his purchases.

The next morning was both hard and good. Phylless came into the picture room after breakfast and saw Nag Kath sitting on the footstool crying like a baby. Instincts were automatic and she rushed over to see if he was injured. He wasn’t. Her Elf looked at her face and smiled before wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. In his hand was the spoon she brought with her for soup and tea and whatever he could chew when he was paralyzed, brought here when he was carted from the house of healing. It was another aspect of love, the puzzle he would piece together for years to come. They sat in silence for a long time. Now he knew why women wept when they were happy.

It wasn’t long before it was time to round Belfalas. First they had to get through the Ethir delta. Powerful spring flows forced deep channels in the mud of the mouth. By autumn captains knew where. That took a few days and then they made southwest between the cape and the huge island of Tolfalas. At one time that may have been an important port but it was just a rock now. No green, no crops. 

As last time, the crew passed the archipelago of more rocks off the Methrast point and then tacked northwest into deeper water rather than flirt with similar rocks up the coast that could rip the bottom out of any ship. 

Winds were generally against this time of year but not bad and neither were the swells. That was cold comfort to Phylless who was sick as a dog. The river girl had never been on blue water. As it happened, her husband knew a few things. He took her to their bunk and held her closely; one hand against her temple, the other around her stomach. Even that took an hour. He would have to sleep tonight. Phyll drank a pitcher of cold tea and buried herself under the covers until the next day.

__________------__________

It was still another ten days before they rounded the point of Dol Amroth. Phyll had gotten her footing. She even managed to win a little money at the Dukks table, which Nag Kath couldn’t do fit and sober. He just kept hoping they would not hit seas like his return after healing Lord Echirion. 

There would be no night in the gaol this time. Rooms at fine inns were reserved for a number of their party. Most of them arrived the next day with a few as green as Phylless. Tal and Ecc seemed fine. He kept forgetting she had a little healer in her too, not enough to share but she was never sick. Nag Kath knew the palace and the dives so they relied on Caladrion and his friends pressed into guide service, mostly to keep the greenbottoms out of trouble. 

The Elf and Phyll were invited by Lord Echirion and his wife for tea. The Lord had never actually seen Nag Kath. Mrs. Hürna tended him after his treatment. The Lord’s sister Lothíriel vouched for his male healer who was quite respectable when not in the company of wargs. Phylless had never heard that story either so Nag Kath tried to make it interesting after so many tellings.

The Lord’s elder daughter had never quite been herself after her father’s madness. She married, but her husband soon realized why she was available to as lowly as him and moved in with a stout, motherly mistress. Erchirion wasn’t sure why he was explaining this to strangers but it just flowed. His wife wasn’t sure either and wrung her hands. 

Nag Kath asked, “My Lord, did you have Mrs. Hürna examine the girl?”

He shook his head and said, “No, Yeniel will not have it.”

“Neither would you.”

The Lord and Lady went white. This was not the tea of thanks they imagined. Echirion’s father Imrahil told his son of the Elf ripping his mind to neutralize the drug. He remembered none of it. Neither did Durnalath.

Only the birds outside made any noise. Nag Kath went into a persona his loving wife had not seen before, something darker. He said slowly, “In the like case in Dale, two victims were given sorcerous poison to bind the witch’s spells. It came in food. If Yeniel ate whatever you were given, she could carry that to an early grave.”

The Lord of Belfalas was the man he had always been. Resolutely he said, “Lord Kath, I would like you to speak with Lady Hürna at your best convenience.”

The wedding was two days away so his convenience was now. Lord Echieron walked the wedding guests to the former staff officer’s home himself. Tsita Hürna opened the door and cackled, “Well, look at what the cat dragged in!” Then she saw Echirion and added, “Not you, My Lord!”

Lady Hürna was doing well. Evidently she still pulled the occasional rich-man’s rash but was quite the woman of leisure. She showed the three inside and had her cook/housekeeper bring tea. She cackled again and said, “What brings you to my door, Nag?”

He had to smile. Even as serious as the errand, she was funny, and still probably the most powerful witch in Middle-earth. He started with “Tsita, this is my wife Phylless.”

“You know how to pick ‘em. Pleased to meet you, Phylless.”

The Lord cleared his throat, “Lady Hürna, Lord Kath is here for a wedding. At tea just now, I relived my experience and troubles with my family. My older girl, poor Yeniel, never came up in our discussions but she is very much in my mind now.”

That took the cackle out of the witch. She took a long pull of tea and studied all of the eyes looking at her. Nag Kath broke the tension, “She has been off her feed since before you and I came. The family thought it was sorrow for her father’s madness. I think she may have gotten into whatever da was eating. What would Lostorin do without the confusion spell?”

The witch muttered, “Make you foul company with bad breath.”

Echirion and Nag Kath both said, “Dougsh.”

Hürna was all business; “We don’t want to do this in your wedding clothes.”

They used the same tactic as for her father’s intervention. Lord Echirion told his daughter she was needed and she reluctantly came to their quarters in the palace. In a corridor not unlike the last, the Elf sprang from the shadows and assaulted the woman unawares. Without the spell, he was not that much the worse for the effort and carried her to the next room where Lady Hürna cleaned the residual. Neither healers were sick and drank a lot of tea. It was old Lostorin.

An hour later, Lady Yeniel was sleeping comfortably thanks to a gentle spell Nag Kath applied to let her recover. Phylless and the woman’s parents were sitting by her bed. Leaning against a far wall, Tsita took another swig of tea and said, “They put the old team back together! What should we charge for this?”

He knew she was joking and smiled. “You got my note about the tongue. I later learned it might be gressroot.”

“That’s what I thought, but she might have just eaten blueberries. Run across the like again?”

“There is a fair healer in Pelargir. She keeps that quiet. I’ve learned a lot about the Elves but my summoning from the wizards is stronger. There has been trouble with spells left behind by Sauron’s lot.”

“Stabbed him in the forehead, did ya?”

“Hughmmm.”

“What happened to the blonde?”

“She left me. I’ll keep this one.”

Lady Hürna looked at Phylless nursing the sleeping Yeniel and said, “Good for you Nag. Good for you.”

He said, “Keep an eye on her. I’m at the Drake and Hen for at least a week. My grand-daughter is getting married to the son of the victim in Dale. She is fine now.”

The healer became serious, “Are you more powerful?”

“Umhumm.”

“Let us see to our patient.”

Nag Kath and Phylless bid the Lord and Lady farewell and walked back to the Drake and Hen in time to see a guest they didn’t know swinging from a chandelier rope. She steered him right up the stairs.

That night she watched him sleep by candle light. It was like when he was paralyzed, how the powerful woman would align his backbones as he would turned silver until the pain knocked him cold, three weeks, every day. She recalled him crying with the spoon. If he could save the world, she must let him.

The wedding went fine. A guest of the bride’s grandfather was a skinny, well-dressed local woman who spent an extra few minutes speaking with the groom’s mother. Dol Amroth weddings are so long, chairs are provided for the guests. There is rich history in this place and they will have you remember that. In his secret heart, the changeling knew Caladrion would not come up for air for two days. Queen Nepthat lives on!

_______________--------_______________

Nag and Phyll strolled the city. Except for the nauseating voyage, she could spend time here. The water was so much cleaner and better smelling than the Anduin. Kath of the Water had no argument there. He had forgotten about the Sindarin library in the old sector. He said, “Darling, just follow my lead.”

They walked in the entrance and approached the desk where an old fellow was as near to napping without falling out of his chair. Nag Kath cleared his throat gently and asked in Westron, “Your pardon, sir. I was hoping to follow-up on my research in the Elvish sorcery section.”

Nag Kath’s hair was now four-years long. He was an Elf. The fellow looked twice and said, “Don’t get your kind here these days. Follow me. The couple did and spent twenty minutes, her standing, him reading, until they walked out after thanking the archivist. It was more fun the last time.

Most of their party would be taking the same ship back to Pelargir. The older folk were tired. They could get some sleep on the sea if they had the stomach. Nag Kath made a discreet trip to the palace to visit his patient the day before. Like her father in his time of need, she had no recollection of him or what happened. Her mother introduced him and the woman rose to offer her hand. There would be no repairing her marriage. Her husband was a good man but he had another family now. 

Eniecia, Cal and his parents waved them off. His grand-daughter looked so happy. The power of Catanard!

The trip home was uneventful. The sea cooperated. Those who were sick coming were sick going, including Phyll. The Conaths were fine. Shurran had the makings of a sailor. He and Uncle Nag helped trim the sails just for something to do. Tal and Ecc were a little queasy at first and then recovered to let the women clean the greenbottoms’ purses at the Dukks table. Nag Kath and Phylless stayed a week in Pelargir to see her parents again and were in Minas Tirith the week after that.

After a romantic evening in their own bed, she said not quite seriously, “When I told you I would come with you, I said you had to tell me everything. And then I find you healed some lord with spells and gutted a wolf with your bare hand!”

“I told you about the Revanthars.”

“Tal told me about the Revanthars.”

“Oh. I told you about Mordor.”

Only slightly mollified, “Yes, yes you did. What about this Mrs. Hürna?”

“Professional courtesy.”

If it wasn’t dark he could see her eyebrow arching. “Yes?”

“She was very brave to help that woman. Some would cut her throat for that. Entire countries would kill me if they could, or you to get to me. People would kill Shurran to keep him from being king and some who would kill so he would ascend. I told you I was a poor Dukks player. But I keep my mouth shut. I don’t blather things that could get those I love hurt.”

Phylless was expecting a worse excuse as he rambled, “The pattern for those like me is to accumulate power. They have to hurt people to get it and keep it. They lock themselves away. They trust fewer, they love fewer. One day; they don’t even love themselves.

“The wizard who created me was one such. He was sent here with two others to obstruct Sauron. Saruman betrayed them, betrayed us all. Little by little, his sense of right eroded until he could justify anything. That is the essence of evil. Every day I ask myself if something only I can do is right or merely justified. If I stop asking, one day I will be no better than Saruman.”

That was the first time Nag Kath had taken his thoughts that far. He was trying to explain his reticence to Phylless and kept going. That was why Gandalf feared his talent, told him to heal. It bought time to temper the power drawn to him. Phylless was stunned. He released the girl in Dale, a woman who would be attractive longer than Phyll because he trusted Phyll. She was strong enough to be his wife. She would tell him when he was wrong. Who else would?

______________------______________

Cleaning the beast pool had a slow start. The King’s representative contracted two Mûmikil crews and another eighty Haradrim to build the site in the spring. The man was vague on the work needed. When the Southrons discovered the scope, they went home. A new man was negotiating now but it was too late to get much done before the snows. There was no great groundswell of concern about Angmar.

Nag Kath and Phylless settled into married life easily. She made friends her own age too and while her cooking and sewing never got any better, the spectacles allowed her to read. The Elf had accumulated quite a few books. Many were in languages she didn’t know but fully half were in Westron. Ardatha loaned her some of Eniecia’s books. They rode to Osgiliath often since was the perfect distance for a leisurely lunch and back before dark. For longer trips they went to Emyn Arnen and around the Rammas ruins. 

Reyald kept busy as Ambassador and was pleased to announce that Queen Xondra had presented King Bain a healthy baby boy. In some ways it closed the book on Dale for Shurran. Shur bought a junior partnership at Helbst and Son, Architects. The Helbst there had been the son and there wasn’t another so it was just the two of them specializing in restoring historic buildings that owners wanted to look original. Sometimes there was no helping it and the work had to be done in modern style or be prohibitively expensive.

Nag Kath tried to do one fresco or mural a year in a public place. He got better with the Elvish water color painting too. At militia time, he and Shur rode with Captain Bessander in close-quarter formation. Both also shot with the Second Archers. Another new fellow had a Northman bow bought here from a shop that got them from Dale.

Before they knew it, it was Syndolan again. That came on the heels of news that Eniecia and Cal had a new son. Mother and babe were doing well and they named him Field, after his great grandfather. Ardatha planned to visit come spring. After the party, Nag Kath and Phylless visited her parents in Pelargir for a month. It was such an easy trip before the spring rains. 

Those rains were heavy in FoA. 40, the first real test of the water supply across the river when the plains flooded. A nasty stomach complaint laid many low but few died. It would have been bad ten years before. In the summer of that year, Nag Kath was called to visit what was known as the beast pool. Two Mûmikil crews were engaged but they used primarily men of Ithilien for the hard work along some of the original Haradrim who would have worked the year before. And it was hard. A huge wooden derrick was sunk along the rocks that would drop cargo nets into the stew. When pieces of the fell-beasts floated with the current, men would spear them with pikes on ropes and drag them into the net. One oliphaunt would wind a winch until the flesh cleared the lip of the pool and then pivot to dump the remains on the bank. There would be no burying them in solid rock or under the shale so the lumps were dried and then burned with wood carried up the hill. The large fell-beasts were roped and pulled up until they broke into manageable sizes. The other oliphaunt brought food and materials from a staging area in the foothills.

It was a miserable employment but it paid very well, especially for the Haradrim who came with the Mûmikil crew. They worked from mid-May until the end of September and earned a year’s income. Men learned to deal with the smell. The manager wondered how many would come again. Nag Kath tested the water from there to the edge of Elvish lands. Sorcery was still present but it was going down. They would never get all the little parts. In a few years, the threat should be gone. On the way home he found Legolas was in Emyn Vierald with Gimli. Their unique friendship had them visit each other’s homes every so often. Nag Kath got the impression Gimli had never warmed to the dense, close forests in Fangorn, but anyone could appreciate Ithilien.

At militia time, Nag Kath and Shurran did as they had and the Elf resumed teaching the little tykes basic bow skills. It amounted to an hour of babysitting but he liked it. With winter coming, Nag Kath broke out the bundles of books and papers he rescued from Pelargir. Nothing seemed very sorcerous. He applied for a dispensation to use the royal archives. As a Lord he could have just helped himself but he wanted to respect the Scholars’ rules. One man was engaged privately to help him with Quenya. There was no time like the present.

Other things got him more than he bargained for. An entire folio of large, loose leaves from the first Pelargir box had architecture and building plans from the middle of the Third Age. Most were Osgiliath but a few were of Tharbad. What they were doing in Pelargir was anyone’s guess. Shurran arranged for him to meet four scholars who specialized in Gondoran history now that this was Shur's bread and butter. Full sized maps of the commercial capitals from that era were scarce and individual renderings only less so. These were large and in good condition. They were also signed with a chop and the two wanted to know if other examples of the man’s work were out there.

All went fairly well until the two younger scholars started remonstrating against the unfairness of the craft. The older red-caps told them to pipe-down to no avail. Why couldn’t men of our time enjoy the glories of then?! One of them gave Nag Kath a nasty stare. When the meeting broke into a shouting match, Shurran scooped up the folio and the guests made for the door, passing two other scholars rushing in to silence the argument.

On their way down the hall Shurran huffed, “Halvers!”

“Eh?”

“Halfers, or halvers, I’m not sure. There is a school of thought that the middle of the Third Age was the golden era of men. Since then it has been nothing but war, dark lords, pox and kin-strife. Some would restore those bygone days. One builder will only take contracts for work in the old high-style.”

Nag Kath could still hear the yelling behind them, “Good luck with that. They need a lot more people. Until then, someone’s got to sow the wheat and make the shoes.”

“Spoiled kids. They don’t seem too happy about you, Nag.”

“I noticed. I was outcast after the war, even a few years into Dale. Wounds were fresh then. Still, folk got on with their lives. It was commonly known that I was one of Saruman’s orcs. Few believed it, but some of them picked fights.”

Shur said grimly, “Hope you don’t have to make examples.”

Uncle Nag replied, “I would be more worried about Phylless. We’ll keep our eyes open.”

He stopped in his tracks, “Shur, heard anything about the Visitors lately?”

“No. But I never did.”

The Elf stared ahead as they walked, “One of these rich kids wanting Sauron or our old friend Melkor back might try to press me into service. I need to keep my wits sharp.”

Nothing much came of it. The Quenya scholar was old enough to have known Mendies and wanted nothing to do with the upstart halfers. Most books had nothing useful but it was good to learn that language, even if he would never hear it spoken. 

In the year 41, Phylless’ parents sold their stake in the yeast business to a long-time associate. With health and leisure time, they came to visit again. The first floor of the house was finally remodeled and they, or anyone else who wanted to visit could come and go as they liked. Nag Kath also took a page from the King’s and Gandalf’s book and had a study made of the unused room upstairs. It was mostly storage for pictures, books and nick-knacks. 

Every so often, Nag Kath would attend Tal’s Thursday tea. Phyll made most of them. He often saw Tal alone or with Ecc. They were getting on fine. Ectilla’s little girl was five now and carried on the family tradition of wild, curly hair. Their son had not married but was long out of the house. Tal was 66 and still had her mischievous smile. Now that her Elf was safely wed, he did not need as much mothering. Flor came up in conversation every now and again. Strangely, he had not seen her but Tal did once or twice a year.

________________-------________________

Year 42 was notable for babies. Queen Arwen was with child. Was this the vision of a son that kept her here? It seemed so terribly long in human counting but a mere forty-five years in Elvish time. This was not an official announcement. Everyone believed it. Nag Kath had not seen much of the royals after Pelargir, amounting to brief reports on the state of the water from the beast-pool and the occasional gathering or music event. Dare he admit it; he was a creature of war and wars were few. 

The beast-pool was not perfect but it was as close as men could get it by the late summer. Hopefully it would clean itself from now on. This would be the last season with the oliphaunts and Nag Kath’s last trip to test the water.

The other news was that Eniecia was expecting another child in February. Nearing the end of Reyald’s term, he and Ardatha would visit in the spring after his replacement was installed. They asked Nag Kath and Phylless to go with them. Phyll got green about the gills just thinking of the voyage but she agreed. Shurran might go too but he was busy and a little bird mentioned that a young lady had caught his eye.

“Is it serious?”

“Aye, Nag, at least, I think so. We shall see about her.”

Uncle Nag took a sip of his wine and said, “If you ever need bad advice, you know where to ask.”

Shur had a sip as well and answered, “Fair enough. She is a daughter of Minister Vorhees. The middle of three. I like the man but I’m not sure he knows quite what to do with me.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was royal but now, not so much. I’m in trade. I practice with our soldiers but with a Buhr Austar patch. He doesn’t know whose side I’m on.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Mine. There’s nothing for me in Dale. Once da retires, I’ll probably buy a reserve commission for Gondor, but I won’t have come up through the ranks with the men I need to know.”

Nag Kath chewed his lip a moment and said, “I had the same problem. My solution is to decide if you want the young woman and let the family think what they like. What does she think?”

“That’s the trouble, Nag. She is a very traditional girl. It’s like Dale. Parents at those levels decide for them. Ma and da don’t care. That helps. Her folks had someone in mind but he disgraced himself in a pleasure-house across the river.”

“It is like I told your sister; decide about her and do your best. Am I a problem?”

Shur shook his head, “I don’t think so. This is probably just about White City gentry. Do you know Vorhees?”

“I met him at one of the Ephel Düath councils. He didn’t say much. I think he has something to do with the purse.”

Shur said resolutely, “You’re right. I’ll ask her what she wants and charge ahead.” He winked at his grand-da and added, “She could do worse.”

The conversation must have gone well because the young lady was invited to the Conath’s for dinner a few weeks later. Julianne was a lovely lass of twenty, a friend of Eniecia’s in the reading group back when. Quite shy, the grownups knew to have a few topics at the ready if the conversation lagged. Shur took her home before dark and came back smiling.

Ambassador Feuro Peliduran arrived in late April. He and Reyald knew each other fairly well and had no trouble ensconcing the man, his plump, friendly wife and two children in the residence. Reyald purchased a home on the fifth months before and most of their things were already moved. The diplomatic community gave a small send off to one of their own in style with promises to see him again. Some might. It was the way of retirement.

Shurran stayed in Minas Tirith when his parents and step-grandparents took the ferry downriver. The quartet stayed in Pelargir long enough to see Phyll’s folks and friends and then took a sailing ship around the cape. Phyll’s discomfort flared again but a practiced combination of herbs and healing made this voyage much more comfortable. 

Eniecia had a little girl this time. She looked like her mother. The little boy favored his father a bit more but their parents looked a lot alike so who could tell? The couple had a home above the war harbor since Cal was active-duty. It was close to the Elvish library but almost an hour’s walk from his parent’s home. 

Nag Kath hadn’t seen Eniecia since she was married so sitting with her as a mother was new. The young woman was fulfilled. She had been welcomed from the day she arrived and though she missed her friends in the White City, her family and marriage were the priorities now. She nursed both her children herself, not always done here, because that was how it was done in Dale. Caladrion was due back from patrol in a few days so they took their leisure and walked a lot to help her regain her strength. A very capable woman saw to the children along with two household staff. 

When he could get away, Nag Kath paid Mrs. Hürna a visit. She never seemed to get much older, having started old in the first place. Now completely retired, her time was her own. Healers don’t make a lot of friends but Ladies of Galador do, so she had people to see. There had been no further trouble with Yeniel’s poisoning. Starting over was harder. A divorce was quietly expedited so she was at liberty, but she needed new friends too. Her sister helped. Mrs. Hürna thought the biggest problem was living in that imposing citadel. If the woman wanted a new life, she had to go where the people were.

Cal was back a few days later and had leave for two weeks while family was visiting. His parents took them, the Conaths and the Kath’s to a genuine Catanard! An open theater in Old Town had a summer series of them and this was the ‘Sayer Of Tidings’, a comedy. As always, it featured clever villains and hapless heroes who somehow find true love. After the show they found a café serving local wine and finger foods. Nag Kath could see spending a winter here one of these days.

_______________--------_______________

It would have been a perfectly ordinary trip except for a chance meeting. Ardatha and Reyald stayed with Cal’s parents. Nag Kath and Phyll book rooms at an inn near the wharf. Phyll liked to sleep-in on holiday so her husband strolled the quay looking at the warships as the sun rose. Above the lintel of a sewing shop he saw a small symbol of Orlo. There was no mistaking it. It had faded since being inked so this was not about his being here.

They would not open for an hour so he got porridge and some of the unique fruits of this land, dividing his attention between the ships and the door. The open sign was twisted from the inside so chances were the owner lived upstairs. He paid for his meal and decided his wife, who loathed sewing, needed thread.

A woman of about fifty greeted him after a little bell over the door rang. He said, “Thank you. I have it on good authority I need to go home with reels of blue and yellow thread.”

“Oh dear, young man. There are all colors and thicknesses. Have you any idea?”

He wanted to see as much of this place and the proprietress as he could so he feigned haplessness hoping the quest would open avenues. Nag Kath shrugged his shoulders. The woman said, “Well, what is your wife, wife right? What is she making?”

“It is a garment for a new baby, something thin for summer, I think.”

The poor man had been sent out with only the barest information so he got a few different kinds of each color and the missus could bring them back if they did not serve. No one ever returned thread so the lady was fairly safe in her offer. He did not see another symbol so as the woman put his thread in a small sack he said, “I am sure these will be fine for right-living.”

The proprietress slowed for an instant before counting out his change saying, “Anything else you need, please come back.”

“What is the best time?”

She looked at him and said thoughtfully, “Closing time.”

The family was eating in that night. Nag Kath made his excuses, which no one ever questioned, and went back to the little store. The closed sign was out but the door was unlocked. As the bell rang he looked at the woman and a man of the age to be her husband. The bell rang again as he closed it.

“I think the thread will serve, ma’am.”

She looked at the fellow who was sitting behind the counter fixing his eyes on the tall customer. A smile came from nowhere to cover his entire face, “It was you!”

The Elf said, “It often is.”

“In Pelargir! You stabbed the troll!”

“Oh, that.”

“What brings you back?”

Nag Kath thought a moment, “There is a glyph above your door, a remembrance of places I’ve been.”

The man lost a little of his smile, “Last owner put that up. I keep meaning to paint it but, you know how it is.”

Nag Kath smiled and said, “It never hurts to ask. Thank you for the thread.”

As he turned he heard, “Stay a moment, friend. Will you share wine with us?”

“Gladly.” The woman walked behind him to lock the door. Then she pulled the cork on a flask and poured a cup to match the drinks they already had. Nag Kath took one of the stools on the outside of the counter and raised his cup in a silent toast. They did as well.

The Harad took a long pull and said, “I am Narvous Untorish, formerly of points south.” One would not know it from his look or speech. He could be from anywhere in the west. The woman was quiet.

“Nag Kath of, well, all over.”

He muttered to himself, “Kath, Kath, Osgiliath?”

The man might have heard the name from Dorwinion. The Mordor adventure was not common knowledge. “Yes, Mr. Untorish, I did some building there.”

Nag Kath took another sip of a fair vintage and continued conversationally, “A symbol like that was in Pelargir too. I don’t suppose you saw it?”

Untorish shook his head, “Nay, sir, never been there. My people came from the southern seas.”

None of this was especially secret so Nag Kath explained, “It was tiled into a floor upside down.”

The woman glanced from face to face but said nothing. Untorish held his chin and asked, “Upside down? Hard to recognize that way.”

“It faced down to keep the trolls at bay. An ambitious soldier broke the seal.”

The blood ran from both the merchants’ faces. She sat down next to her husband. He looked at his empty cup and said, “Mr. Kath, you are well ahead of me in this. Do you come from Nennûrad?

“Never been there. My learning is from the Ghurates of Rhûn and Khand, more recently, Mordor itself.”

The man spat on his wife’s clean floor and glared at the Elf before softening his face. Then a look of curiosity and awakening dawned and he said, “Are you the one called to attend … the one we are waiting for?”

“That would be news to me, Mr. Untorish. But I am enemy to the Visitors and recently destroyed their hive. There are more, I am sure.”

Nag Kath thought he might spit again at the mention of the Visitors but held back. The Elf remembered Idgshok spitting when the Visitors rode past them. Vegad too, as if even the mention of it needed to be purged.

Untorish nodded to his wife who fetched another flask and filled the cups to the brim. Since they were silent, Nag Kath asked, “Tell me of Nennûrad. Is it in Harad?”

“Further east. A place called Chey. I have never been there. It is said to be where the symbol was born. I only know that my parents left Far Harad when my sister and I were small and always kept that symbol somewhere on their home in faith. They said it reminded them of wholesome choices.”

The Elf said, “It does indeed, Mr. Untorish. Are your parents still alive?”

“My father is now gone these eight years. He inked that symbol over the door.”

Nag Kath advised, “You might do well to paint it over as you said. Keep another only you can see. There are those who would do you harm. They are abroad in the world, fewer of them than ten years ago, but not repentant.”

The woman broke her silence, “Thank you for that, Mr. Kath. We will.”

Nag Kath held his own chin for a question of moment, “Mr. Untorish, did your folks leave behind anything of their journey?”

The Southron was torn. In the trunk were relics of his family going back generations. But he knew he could not use them. This man could, and he had slain a troll. Finally he said, “Please, wait here.” 

It took him a while but he came back downstairs with a folio not unlike the one the scholars fought about. It was entirely in Haradric. Nag Kath would need to learn yet another language. Not even the Elves were said to speak that one. Nag Kath said, “It may be some time before I can return these to you, Mr. Untorish.”

“I would like them back, but take years if you need them. They are precious to me.”

The phrase took Nag Kath aback but he recovered quickly and thanked him, “I will try. In the meantime, this is a symbol you should avoid. Should you see it, send me a note through Lord Echirion. My name will be enough to grant you an audience.” He drew the symbol Fûl on a scrap of paper. Untorish turned the scrap around and said, “Oh, like the shields.”

“I fear so, Mr. Untorish. I fear so.”

There would be no trips to Far Harad or Chey, wherever that was, on this leg. They stayed three months, often in the company of Cal’s lovely parents. The Conath’s said their goodbyes with promises to kiss Haldiera, her little ones and granna when they visited Dale, possibly next year. Their water blossom was everything they had hoped.

The journey was rougher than coming. Phyll had finally gotten her sea-legs and only needed a little magic to keep dinner down. Nag Kath helped with the lowly jobs on deck both to be useful and learn more about sailing. He thought he might do more someday. The crew worked as a team, seeming to anticipate each other but still paying close attention to the master’s calls. They never took the sea for granted, not for a moment.


	15. Learned Discoveries

**_Chapter 15_ **

**_Learned Discoveries_ **

The White City had not missed them. They got home in spite of stronger than usual Anduin flow and settled back in. Ardatha was tired. At 63 even tough women of the Buhrs slow down. It was Eniecia’s turn to come home next time. Full retirement took no time at all for Reyald. With Mülto slowing, citizen Conath took a more active role in choosing properties and what work was needed. He also used that as an excuse to visit Tumlen in Osgiliath with Ardatha who still loved to ride. A new Lossarnach mare was her birthday present.

Nag Kath laid the thread-merchant’s folio out on his big table. There were no maps. The paper was not old. These seemed to be some sort of diary combined with transcriptions of lessons, perhaps something like the recitations of the Sayers in Rhûn. 

He couldn’t find just anyone from Harad to read it to him. They had to be learned and not harboring any grudges about the misunderstanding on the Pelennor Fields. 

Chey? Where was Chey? His Quenya teacher was on drinking terms with the scholar who curated the maps. The man knew that it was at the corner of both Khand and Harad well past Lhûg, where Wain Riders were said to originate. None of the scholars were conversant in that tongue, an amalgam of tongues and the changeling knew more about that part of the world than anyone not still there.

He would search unofficially. There were pockets of Haradrim on both the first level and in Rammas by the gate. They were either merchants or those who served the merchants. Travelers brought hammered brass and copper bits of varying quality along with brightly colored woolens and Ko-ton. Most used donkeys as the roads below the Poros River were ill-suited for carts. The folk who stayed competed for market stalls since the travelers could not get preferred locations and seldom spoke enough Westron to dicker on price. 

Nag Kath remembered one old man who was quite heavy and missing a foot, or most of a foot. He walked with a crutch. The Elf took a bench on the second looking down and watched for two days. Every morning the old boy took forever to get from his apartment to his stall and once there, did not leave during the day. Working for him was a lass who might be a grand-daughter at about thirteen. She was better-fed than the travelers and would be comely in a few years’ time. He never saw anyone her parent’s age. After the second day, he followed them home. They lived in a warehouse where the sleeping quarters were separated by tarps hung from the ceiling. With no security, they took everything of value with them to work and back.

Nag Kath looked for anything to suggest the man could read. Like all of them, he used a counting rack with blinding speed. Most days, traveling merchants sought someone with a stall to hawk their goods. Sometimes they sold them to the vendor, sometimes they were on consignment. The old man and lass took on inventory they knew and seemed familiar with the travelers. They made their best-efforts to sell their wares and settled with the merchants at the end of the market-day.

On day three, Nag Kath was about to give up when the woman three stalls towards the prow walked over with a traveler. They handed the fat man a scroll. He looked at it for quite a while and then said something that seemed to clear up a misunderstanding. Both vendor and traveler thanked him and walked back to her stall amicably. It was time to ask.

Yesterday’s inventory was buckles and brasses for horse bridles and they had not sold out. Nag Kath dressed roughly and borrowed a broken harness that had hung in his stable since he moved here from Dale. Making his way down the stalls he saw the buckles and walked over with the sorry tangle of leather seeing if anything matched. Unsure, he asked the vendor in Plainstongue if the man had one the right size.

He didn’t, but it would be good money after bad with the hide in such poor condition. And where would a blonde handyman have learned Plainstongue?

The blonde thanked him and pulled a sheet of paper from his coat. Nag Kath had drawn a series of phrases that were repeated several times in the Dol Amroth papers on one side and instructions from a superior in Westron on the other. Holding it to read the Westron showed the Harad speech to the old man.

In the confused face Nag Kath had perfected when it was accurate, he asked, “Do you know who sells such western horse halters?” Eastern riders seldom used mouth-bits and often just grasped their mount’s manes. The old boy pointed to the end of the row and said in fair Westron, “Two from end. His name is Vhull. What have you got there?”

“I was told to get a bride.”

The man laughed, “Bridle. Men here use them to steer their horses. I meant on the back?”

Nag Kath looked at it as if for the first time and handed it to the vendor. To show just how far the world had come, and dougsh to the halfers, the man reached in his vest for a pair of spectacles. They were not clean or very well ground but they did work. He took a closer look at the page and said, “Know those persons by care and honor of family. They keep the flame.”

In his best yokel impression Nag Kath asked, “Whatever does that mean?”

The fat man grinned a little and said, “It is an old saying from the east.”

Nag Kath took it back and said, “I am sorry. I thought it said leathers for the horse.”

The man grinned a little more and offered, “That is on this side.”

Ever gracious, Nag Kath thanked him and said, “I am sorry for my ignorance.”

“You aren’t very good at ignorance. Your hair is too clean.”

“I used to be excellent.”

The merchant said dryly, “Do you want to tell me what you are doing?”

“I need someone who can read this tongue, someone discreet.”

The fellow held his chin. "Oh dear! Discretion is expensive, young man.”

“And well worth it, learned sir. Are you available for such service? It may take several days. The unconvincing servant handed him a silver and said, “I will have a man-cart at your quarters the day after tomorrow. Bring the girl if she is not safe alone.”

The Elf arranged a man-carter who was strong enough to help the vendor with the steps to his house. They arrived shortly after the nine-bell. The lass carried a small satchel that was older than Nag Kath’s prop halter and the man-carter steadied his fare on the side without the crutch. It took a while but they made it.

Turnlie approached greeted them, “Good morning, sir. Young lady, would you like tea with your strawberries?”

Her eyes grew wide as she looked to her elder for permission to accept. He nodded and she said in perfect Westron, “Yes, thank you ma’am.”

The Elf said to him, “Sir, let me put you here at the table.” On a flat, smooth floor he had no trouble getting there or sitting. Tea was served along with another bowl of strawberries. The girl sat with them.

Nag Kath started, “My name is Nag Kath. Do you know it?”

“Oh yes. I asked a few questions about tall, blondes conversant in eastern languages. I am Sulvarn. This is Venaris, who has the misfortune to be my grand-daughter. It seems you have been busy, Mr. Kath.”

“That is my reputation. If you know that, you know whose side I am on.” That was both a statement and a threat. Word leaking back to the Visitors would not recommend.

“Yes. Venaris and I are not so blessed. We are on the side that feeds us. For the past nine years, that has been the White City.” He looked at his grand-daughter and instructed, “Child, go see if the cooking woman needs help.”

She rose and bowed saying, “Yes, granda.”

The Elf took her absence to say, “I have a number of documents in a tongue of Harad. I speak a little but do not read it. A reliable rendition will assure your retirement.” Then he cocked his head ever so slightly.

Sulvarn savored a strawberry and mused, “Retirement is as expensive as discretion.”

Nag Kath slid a nipper his way, “Another when you are done.”

That was a fortune. A good day cleared six groats. But Sulvarn knew he had a fish on the line. “Almost enough for a proper dowry, Mr. Kath.”

“More depends on the quality of the work.”

“Of course.” 

Venaris came back to say, “The serving woman needed no help but she gave me these, granda.” On a plate were some of the fried finger cakes made with sweet cane. 

Sulvarn tossed his robe back for comfort and asked, “Shall we begin?”

Nag Kath handed him the folio. The man reverently pulled back the cover and then scanned each sheet, making no notes or asking questions. When he got to the back he sighed and asked, “Do you know what you have here?”

“No, but I suspect it relates to my recent activities.”

Sulvarn said, “I believe so. Was this to be translated in your tongue or just spoken to you?”

“Let us start with telling.” Nag Kath switched to Khandian, “But also consider there may be hidden clues in the writing that do not show at a glance.”

The vendor registered no expression at hearing Variag. It might make explaining this easier. As he started, Phylless came in from shopping and saw the Southron and his girl eating strawberries. This was planned. She was introduced and then said, “Venaris, what a lovely name. I was just about to go buy some new clothes. Would you like to come with me?”

Again the look to granda. Again the nod. She would have some pretty new things when she returned.

The writings were indeed a diary, of sorts. It chronicled the trip of travelers a thousand years ago from the land of Chey escaping a forced call of soldiers. The trip took four hundred years through fifteen generations of folk finally settling above Umbar. Entries sometimes skipped a generation or two. There were Saying and poems like in Rhûn, detailed descriptions of locations, people born and lost. It often remembered right living and, a few times, the unnamed prophet who had started the cause long before this account started. 

The documents were a modern copy in only several hands, perhaps three hundred years old by the parchment. So this was not the journey of Untorish’s parents. They were simply keepers of story. 

There was nothing in the cursory reading to suggest the prophet was Orlo of the garden, but a man would arise briefly for counsel, far from where he had been, always appearing different over the generations. He did not carry weapons or lead in war. He healed terrible sickness. He seemed to be there for decisions. Without false modesty, Nag Kath had done the same after an ill-omened start. 

There was quite a bit more in the details, more than Nag Kath wanted to commit to memory. Sulvarn was engaged to translate the document in both Westron and Variag. Every day for a week the man-cart took the pair to and from their lodgings. Venaris stayed at the table most of the time but also went with the servants to get food or walking with Mrs. Phylless, even making a splash at Tal’s Thursday tea in her pretty clothes. She smiled and ate everything passed her way.

________________-------________________

On the eighth day, Sulvarn and Venaris came as usual. As they finished, Nag Kath asked in Variag, which the girl did not speak, “Have you considered the cost of retirement?”

Reluctant to name a figure, he said, “How does one put a price on true satisfaction?”

Nag Kath handed him two gold nippers and twenty silvers so he would not have to make change of the gold in the wrong place. Sulvarn opened his palm and closed it. Then he looked at the Elf with a face that held no artifice. This was past bargaining or an opening offer or deflecting gratitude. He smiled and called, “Venaris, come with granda.”

The girl pouted, “Oh please, the lady said we would get sweets.”

“Perhaps your old granda can manage something.”

Sulvarn kept his stall. But the quality of his wares got much better.


	16. Chûr

**_Chapter 16_ **

**_Chûr_ **

In the year 43 of the Fourth Age there was only one story. On March second, the Lady Arwen Undómiel presented the King with the Crown Prince Eldarion Telcontar, a healthy baby boy. A general holiday was declared lasting two weeks. Taxes were suspended, rules were bent. Banners proclaimed the event as the city rejoiced.

The auspices were true. Aragorn would not be a single King followed by stewards. This was the line of Elessar, fabled jewel of Eärendil. Gondor and Arnor would be restored. Presents and well wishes flooded the city, so many that most were given to children who had nothing. Faramir and Éowyn came. Legolas came. Gimli arrived a few months later with a number of Shire Hobbits who made the long trip. The King stayed in the White City or at the horse farm. Everyone he needed to see came to him.

Shurran’s romance did not go as well.

“She said no?”

“I did not ask. She was not ready.”

“You need experience and confidence in a wife. That’s not what gentry are supposed to want.”

Shurran knitted his eyebrows and was considering a response so Uncle Nag continued, “You are so many different things; almost royalty, an heir, a working engineer, a soldier, well-traveled, not to mention your mad uncle.” He grinned, “Any of those could come to the fore.”

Leave it to the Elf to turn things upside down! Shurran did not need a homely society lass or rich father-in-law to move up in the world. He remembered the Khandian girls. What if a woman did not care for that? She might only marry to escape a horrid mother!

“Experienced and confident?”

“Aye, and it helps if they have more to do than worry and make doilies when you are away.”

_____________------____________

In June the Kaths and Conaths were invited to a viewing of the Prince on the anvil (top of the prow). His naming day was still some time off but the lad was a healthy, cheerful sort and it helped for folk to know. It was the largest event up there since the King’s coronation forty five years before.

Everyone who was anyone and quite a few more crowded outside the lane that the King and Queen would walk. Tailors were booked months-out since everyone would be in their best. Nag Kath was tempted to avoid the crush but Phylless insisted. She did not mind crowds and being tall gave her a better view than most. They had preferred standing closer to the stairwell from the diplomatic area on the sixth so they squeezed in with Ardatha, Reyald and Shurran. Further towards the prow people were packed and helping themselves to mountains of food. 

The royal couple was radiant; he; noble, grave and fit, she; lovely and gracious. Eldarion was carried by Aragorn and other than squinting in the sun, seemed to be in a good mood. Babies don’t always appreciate the moment. He got a little fussy on the return trip so Aragorn handed him to his dry nurse and climbed the steps with the Queen to address the crowd.

**" _Good people of Gondor, Arnor and all of the places we call home, friends and neighbors come to visit and share the Queen’s and my joy; thank you for being here to see young Prince Eldarion Telcontar, second in the new line of Kings!"_**

A great cheer rose from the ranks.

**_It does my heart good to see you all here. We know you have waited long and faithfully for this day, that your leaders are strong and that your welfare is considered. Thank you all for coming and let us together join in the blessings of our new age!_ **

Folk felt honored in the spirit of their country and gave another ovation across the anvil. All eyes were on the royals as they waved and followed the guards. Well, almost all eyes. Using his height, Nag Kath scanned the crowd for familiar faces. 

He saw one he wished he hadn’t. 

Nag Kath had no legal or administrative authority but he could pretend with the best of them. He grabbed the arm of a Sergeant trailing the royal couple and said in his Elf Lord voice, “Get them inside and lock that door. No one else gets in!”

Then he grabbed Shurran’s arm and growled, “We need to do something dangerous.” To the Conaths and Phylless; “Watch for us.” They were gone.

Nag Kath said to Shur, “See the one in the black jacket, no cap, leaving the food tables?”

“A dozen of them!”

“Walking towards the main gate in the crowd. On the short side, dark hair, clean-shaved. He is alone but may pretend to know people as he makes his way.”

“I think so.”

“Stick to him like tar on the cat, but not so close he is suspicious. We only need to know where he goes. I will try to circle round and watch from the side. Whether you lose him or track him to earth, I’ll see you at your house.” Nag Kath nodded as the two hurried along and then were lost in the mass.

Being tall and powerful, Shur plowed through irritated citizens to stay about forty feet behind. The man did not seem evasive. There were no double-backs or window-shopping stops to see who behind him studied their shoes. Shurran did not see Nag Kath, which was no surprise. The guest made his way down the switchbacks but also used the short-cut stairs and eventually landed on the third at about the prow before walking south.

A small crowd of folk left a drinking establishment directly in front of Shurran and then milled about while his quarry kept going. By the time Shur pushed through, he had lost the scent. He stood on a trough to spot the black hair but it was no use. Climbing down he figured one of the skills Uncle Nag had just praised him for was not as a guardi. The young Northman pushed forward against the chance that the man in the black jacket had also been delayed. Fifty paces further, the crowd beyond the switchback thinned and there was no one to be seen. Shurran punched his fist into his open hand in frustration and looked to the sky.

Standing by the guardrail above was Uncle Nag. The Elf pulled his head up and Shurran trudged back to the fifth. Nag Kath was waiting two doors down from the new Conath home. Shurran was fit and not puffing but still agitated. With Uncle Nag, he might have been a decoy or hound to drive the hare. Knowing all would be explained, the two silently made their way to the house.

Phylless’ patience was extraordinary. So was Ardatha’s. Reyald’s was learned, but he could not appear more anxious than the ladies so he sipped an ale and stared at finger-foods brought by Loral. They went better with tea. The two trackers walked in and sat down with the others. Nag Kath scratched his nose and Ardatha told the servants everyone had what they needed after cool mugs were brought.

This was Nag Kath’s show so he started. “I saw a man who should be five years dead in Mordor. A young officer of the Visitors, not a likely guest for such an august occasion. I cannot imagine him here for any good.”

Reyald asked, “The same Visitors from Dorwinion?”

“Aye, but this one from the nest itself. I would lay long odds he is the son of the Assured, though how he escaped confounds me. I need to see the King as soon as I can get there.” The Elf looked at Shurran, “Did he touch, speak or even look at anyone along the way, Shur?”

“Not until a herd of workmen lurched out of the Wild Boar and clogged the path. They looked like they belonged there.”

Nag Kath said, “I saw them, hard to stage that sort of interference. All I got was the building he went into but he could have slipped out again and made elsewhere. It will take sharper than me to ask without drawing attention.” He asked Miss Fennel, “Can you ride?”

“Someone puts me on and points it, I’ll get there.”

Phylless said sweetly, “And what about you?”

He shook his head, “He won’t know me. I had black braided hair and a strange costume. How did they miss him?” That last bit was to himself. Of course, the man along the Nargil might have been son to neither of the chief actors, but he was still an Richtren of the Visitors. Rydovosh settled them proper. That said; Nag Kath didn’t recall seeing his head in the pile.

He came back to the world and doodled a sketch, “This is what he looks like. You see him, you scream. Better yet, slip a knife in his ribs.” Phyll carried a wicked little sash blade when walking the worse sections of Pelargir, which was most of them. Grooms were bringing the horses as he left.

Reyald offered, “Great River?” Nag Kath nodded and kissed Phylless softly. His first trip was up two levels. Then he would look at brass saddle fittings below.

_____________-------____________

After such a momentous day, most of the palace guards were in their shiny best and sensitive to zealous well-wishers. It would take more than that to stop the Elf. He walked to the preferred side gate and said, “I am Lord Kath. I need to see King Elessar at once.”

The guard was ordered to be polite but no one was being allowed in, perhaps because this very blonde gentleman said so. The man drawled, “Sorry sir. Their Highnesses are not receiving.”

A faint yellow light shone in the guards face as the citizen said, “Fetch your superior right now. It is your duty.”

The man blinked and tried to resist but the command was in his mind and drove all others from it. He turned as if on parade and walked up the corridor to catch the attention of the Sergeant-Major. Both returned. Nag Kath did not recognize the Sarn't and repeated, “I am Lord Kath. I need to see King Elessar immediately. Take me under heavy guard as far as Minister Tarnbohl, but do it on your life.”

His ears were showing. Elves were taken seriously. The Sarn't barked, “As you were, soldier” and pulled his head back down the corridor. Two more guards fell in at the first interior door on orders from the duty Sergeant and they wound their way towards the royal apartments. Two doors away, a Captain the Elf did not know came forward and the Sergeant whispered in his ear.

“So, you need to see the King? It must be important.” The man was a dangerous protector of his Lord but there was a hint of humor in his comment. He wasn’t there to rough-up the citizens on this of all days.

Nag Kath pulled his ruby pass and spoke softly, “Get Tarnbohl or die failing.”

The officer looked at the Sergeant and guards before growling, “He doesn’t even twitch!” Then he turned on his heels and made it one door closer. Five minutes later, Security Minister Tarnbohl walked out with the officer and said, “Nag Kath? What’s on your mind, man?”

“Trouble from my lake home, sir.”

That took a second to sink in. Tarnbohl nodded each way saying, “Men, I’ve got this. Back to your posts, and not a word.” The Security Minister pulled his head and the two walked towards the apartments. The man stated, “They are busy. You know that. Wait here.” Tarnbohl knocked and entered remembering his briefing after the Elf returned from Mordor discussing the black Visitors. And he spoke with Nag Kath less formally after the incident in Pelargir. No, if the Elf needed to talk to the King, the King himself would make that decision.

Not two minutes later Nag Kath was shown inside. He had always come through a working entrance to the King’s study. This was the family apartment. Aragorn and Arwen were sitting beside each other. Both fixed their eyes on him as Tarnbohl shut the door and stood at attention. The royals were waiting.

“Sire, My Lady, I saw a high Visitor from Mordor four rows back in the viands at your Lord son’s introduction. I followed him to a building on the third but that does not mean he is there. I rather doubt that. If I do not miss my guess, he is the son of King Nulvanash and should dead three times over. I do not think he knows he was identified.”

Now it was their turn. 

Arwen asked, “Are you sure, Nag Kath?”

“Too sure to chance. I got a close look at him just before the battle. He can barely be twenty two, high by birth but unless he acts alone, not in charge.”

Aragorn had not opened his mouth. He looked to Tarnbohl and said, “You were born for this.” Turning to Nag Kath, “Take care, friend. Take great care.”

Tarnbohl and the Elf stalked to the security chief’s office. No guards here; no one wanted to be inside this room. They collapsed into chairs on either side of his desk in silence for a few seconds. Tarnbohl, Levantos' successor, sighed, “Tell me again, everything.”

With back and forth it took half a bell. Tarnbohl whistled loudly twice and an ordinary, plainly dressed man stepped in from a side door and stood at the end of the desk. Nag Kath had never seen him before. That was no accident. This fellow was not to be remembered. Tarnbohl said, “Nag Kath, this is Boradul.” No mister or rank or anything else. “You said number 317A on the Fendul path?”

The Elf nodded. Boradul asked in a careful voice, “Main door?”

“Aye, I saw nothing from the window and could not get down to the second to see if he worked his way out below.”

Boradul said, “You know your business, Mr. Kath. There is a door in that building from the storage pit leading into the tanner’s district. It is usually locked.”

That last sentence meant something. Either the Visitor was able to free it before he chose his route or someone inside helped. Nag Kath was sure Boradul knew who owned it and what happened inside. 

Nag Kath asked, “Minister, can you get me a pencil and paper?” The guardi almost never got assistance like this. The Elf sketched as if it was a cherished family portrait. Both men gathered round as he filled-in a surprisingly gentle face. Done in five minutes, Nag Kath said, “I can draw as many of these as you need.”

Boradul invited himself to look over the Minister's shoulder. “He’s new.”

“Half Khand, half Mordor. It is a unique look. Black hair, not much of a beard. He looks clean-shaved. He favors his mother of the Variag. I put him at five eight, nine stone, in Southron clothes, wearing boots with heels, early twenties. 

“Mr. Boradul, you would not know it from this lad, but Mordor men have close-set eyes, almost always gray, makes them look like they are staring. They are small too and sometimes a bit bandy-legged. It signifies little since his associates, if he has any, could just as well be from Khand. I speak both tongues.”

Tarnbohl said, “How do we reach you?”

“I will stay at my house. My wife is elsewhere.” They got a glimpse of the grin, “I will keep out of your way but there are a few questions only I can ask. If I find something, I will be here. May the Valar protect our Liege!”

_____________-------_____________

Nag Kath walked seemingly unconcerned to his house. He was unarmed, as he always was in the city and especially after attending a royal function. He would stay that way. Miss Fennel had probably already been spirited away but Turnlie must have just come back with dinner-fixings and was humming in the kitchen. The Elf saw no one interested in him thought he tried not to appear looking either. He shouted in his usual voice, “Hello, Turn. What’s for dinner?”

She turned and wiped her hands on her apron before replying, “I got some those nice gollisks from upriver, sir. They are fresh today.”

“Oh, I do like those. Turnlie, come here for a moment first. There has been a change of plans.”

She was allowed to sit at the main table with the master and mistress and made herself at home. Her master got a bit more serious, “Turnlie, there has been trouble upstairs.” She knew that meant the seventh. “Mrs. Phylless and Miss Fennel are leaving for a spell. I do not think it means danger here, but you do not have to stay if you do not want to.”

The stout cook put her hand over her mouth and said from behind it, “One of your old friends come to roost?”

“No fooling you, old Turn. I spotted a bad ‘un. He may want to settle scores. You are welcome to stay with your ma as long as it takes. It will be just me here.”

She said, “I’ll sleep there but come here for breakfast and dinner, make it look normal like.”

“Oh Turn, you are a love. You see a handsome young man with black hair who doesn’t belong, you keep walking, eh?”

“Yes, Mr. Kath.”

Sulvarn had put some of his hard-earned into clothes, used clothes, mind, but a sight better than before. Nag Kath watched his stall for an hour from two angles before he went shopping.

The old boy wasn’t sure of his eyes but gave a modest wave and got back to the customer considering one of his fine soaps. The Elf made a ham-handed effort to consider wares while the merchant completed his sale. Sulvarn cracked, “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Neither did I. There’s trouble. Do you remember the symbol Fûl?”

“Hard to forget that.”

“There is a hard man of that order where he shouldn’t be.”

Nag Kath knew Sulvarn had nothing to do with that. The Visitor, he never got the name, would have been on his way, if not already here, before the Elf got back from the river. But Sulvarn knew where Nag Kath lived. If anyone was sniffing around the fourth, it might be because the Yvsuldor put the squeeze on the immobile merchant. 

The vendor puffed up with importance, “Sir, I will be vigilant.”

Nag Kath sidled to the counter and pulled a copy of his picture. Sulvarn commented, “Khandian! High Khand at that. Pretty lad. They don’t mix with common Swertings unless at need. He shows; Venaris will come by for sweets.”

_______________------________________

There was a small annex on the south side of the second where officers kept horses in the days of the Steward. Now it was only used to store hay. At this time of year, stocks were low waiting for the fall harvest. Men with nowhere else to go often slipped in to get out of the rain. There were two smelly caves further back with stout doors wedged open, perhaps to hold valuables long ago. The rock floors were rough and uneven, always damp in one corner.

Vanteg Chûr took off his boots and poured the sand into the straw. It was clean straw at least. He took a piece of dried meat from his bag to see how much was left. After stuffing himself at the feast above, he would save it for tomorrow. The Nûrn put it with a rolled wheat patty and took a few swigs from his canteen. 

Chûr had never heard of Nag Kath. He was listening to his chief on the river and did no more than glance at the four strangers. As far as he knew, they were just fellow losers at the disaster caused by the Assured and the head of his order, Uvuo. A fool with a magic ring was still a fool. Those two were dying when he rode his flatulent horse into the Nargil and swam alongside her, watching arrows plop harmlessly in the freezing water.

He forded a few miles down and drove the horse near death back to Ûniarra Nûrn. Fortunately he was light and a good rider. Reaching the capital half a day ahead of Rydovosh, he ordered the ferry to take him across, turning his tunic inside-out halfway there. At night, he rode unquestioned where Aômul’s pickets should have been. In the morning, his saddle was replaced by a stolen sack across the horse to look like a merchant’s lad returning home empty-handed. 

Chûr did not know who his father was. He had only the faintest memory of a beautiful woman seen through the lattice of her garden. She looked like him. Any boy would wish for such a mother but she was gone years ago. Uvuo told him he was to become an Yvsuldor, very young. A subaltern by the rout on the river, he was never given command. One did not ask questions. The Assured occasionally inspected his regiment and would interrogate him, looking at him so strangely! He feared the Assured. Life was hard. His gentle Khandian features absorbed more than a few punches from ambitious Nûrns.

The young man made his way to Khand, stole food and trekked along the southern Ephel until he landed among the Southrons. A vile and swarthy lot, they left him alone unless they wanted his trim body. One man was slit from groin to ribs for the effort. The dougsh’s clothes held copper coins. 

It took years to get here after his horse was stolen, always walking, always a little further along the great River Harnen. His reasons for coming were unclear. It was proclaimed in Mordor that ‘the Gondor’ were the foulest of enemies, a hateful lot who would eat the babies of Nûrn. Uvuo himself said that the Yvsuldor’s purpose on earth was revenge on the men who did this to them and stole their lord by summoning the unclean sorcery of dead soldiers. With patience, always patience, he would be returned.

Chûr doubted that. The Nûrn ate their own babies. He was small and beardless, not vicious enough to be a Visitor among such vicious men. But they let him live, they let him stay. Now he was here and Gondor did not seem so foul. When he arrived a week ago, a large woman took pity on him and gave him food from her stall for none of his few remaining brown coins. People smiled. He saw no babies eaten, though quite a few sheep fared worse. And today, of all days, he just walked up the hill to see the great ruler and his woman show their own baby. 

It was so confusing. As he often did in times of uncertainty, Chûr flexed his right hand. It created a soothing yellow color around it, quickly dying to the olive of his skin as the tingle eased his troubles. He had never told anyone about that.

______________-------_____________

Guardi scoured the city. The best of them were subtle but the big ones scowled and looked in honest peoples’ businesses. Minister Tarnbohl had not slept in two days. The owner of the building the assassin slipped through was no more than drunk at the baby Lord’s introduction. He left the key in the lock. 

Their target did not eat. He did not know anyone. He spoke to no one. He was unseen. On the morning of the third day, Chûr wandered out of the hay. He had two groats left. Southrons made chew strips of dried organ meats and he could get enough to last today and perhaps tomorrow for one of his groats.

As he weighed his meager choices, an old, crippled man in a soap stall called him over saying in Haradric, “You look hungry, lad. I have more of this than I can eat.”

Beware Southrons offering something for nothing. He gutted the one but another time did not get away. No, the man removed a warm cholla patty from the leaf and put fresh meat in the center. A fair dipping sauce was right on the counter. Chûr never remembered anything tasting so good. He thanked him in Plainstongue, “Blessings, sir. My road has been long.”

The old man replied, “It is the long roads that show us our blessings. You must come all the way from Khand.”

That was the safest mistake. Mentioning the Nûrn upset men further south. “Yes, from the Khur-Khand.”

The vendor called a shy lass over. She showed Variag blood as well. He gently told her, “Dear, do granda a favor and go tell my friend that we will need more soap shortly.”

She bowed and smiled, “Of course, honored grandfather.”

Sulvarn appeared to wrack his memory, “Now, where were we? Oh yes, I have some of the sweet cane rolls. Do people of your lands eat those?” Chûr had no idea, but people from his lands ate anything they got. The young man nodded and was given the most heavenly taste known to any man. How could these people be so evil and have such things?! 

Knowing it would take the Elf at least half an hour, if he was even home, Sulvarn took a risk. He said, “See here, I do not move about so well. I need to put the boxes on the right to the left to make room for more coming. If you do that for me, I will pay you five groats.”

Chûr would have done it for the food. He nodded and started the work. It would only take a few minutes at this rate so Sulvarn said, “Wait, I am sorry. They must be stacked so the blue marks are on top, facing this way.” They were actually boxes of his neighbor’s stall. Sulvarn was watching them for an hour. Arranging the blue marks up still only took fifteen minutes. Running low on ways to dither, the vendor said, “Well done. I am hungry again. Here are your five groats and two more to go over to that stall for more cholla. Off you go!”

The lad might just take all seven and be gone but he stood in line while another Haradrim argued that for such small patties they should be five a groat! Taking forever, the buyer settled on four a groat which was the same deal Chûr would have gotten but traded one for more dipping sauce.

When he got back, a customer was sniffing some of the vendor’s soaps. Not wanted to interfere, but not wanting the cholla to get cold either, the young man unrolled the flat wheat patties to inspect the meat in the middle and set the dish of sauce on the counter away from the customer. Sulvarn said in the strange local tongue Chûr was starting to understand, “Sir, you should try these. They are still warm.”

The beardless blonde gratefully accepted and said, “Yes, very good. Young man, you should enjoy yours too.” That was beyond comprehension but he knew the ‘eat’ signal in any tongue. The blonde man smiled at him. 

__________------__________

Chûr woke in a sturdy room with no windows. It was not a cell. Cells smelled worse. The Assured made the Ghoranduls take men in for questioning or kill them to prove their loyalty. Cell or no, he was not leaving. The blonde man was sitting on a chair reading something by candlelight. Chûr would be very still. He was quick. If the fool turned away, he had already planned the fewest steps to the man’s throat. Except, his knife was missing. 

The blonde man set his papers aside and said in crude Mordoran, “Good, awake. Does head hurt?”

Chûr shook his head, the same in any language.

“I am Solvanth. You will tell me everything I want to know.”

He said it so calmly! Like Uvuo. Nulvanash never threatened softly. He puffed large and made his voice painful. The man with long blonde hair said, “You were Richtren. All of the Visitors are dead along the Nargil. How did you live?”

Chûr just stared. The man never broke his concentration. Chûr could never get to his throat in time. How did he know? He spoke the tongue!

The blonde asked, “Why are you here?”

The young man knew a little of interrogators. They start gently. Pain begins either when you are false or to enjoy themselves. That should be a lesser question leading to one that mattered. He did not know it was the questioner’s most important.

“I escaped downriver. Rode, walked through Harad, years to come. They said Gondor was evil. But people feed. I do not know why I came. I just kept going.”

Nag Kath let him talk. In his narrative, the young man used a few Variag words so when it was time for another question, the blonde man asked in Khandian, “What is your name?”

It was the same anywhere, “Vanteg Chûr.”

The blonde was interested, “Is that a mix of Nulvanash and Chûran?”

He knew of the Assured! Oh, this must end badly. Could he run into the wall hard enough to lose his mind? “Nulvanash is Assured. Dead and I spit. I do not know the other name, best of sirs.”

Was it possible the lad did not know who his parents were? No bastion of family affection; Mordor. If the sorcerer thought he would live forever, he might not want his namesake looking for advancement. He might not have killed him either. There was no mistaking his mother, though. That was strong blood.

“Vanteg Chûr, what do you want?”

“Food. Not fear.”

The tall man rose saying, “Food will be brought to you. You must stay here. I will come tomorrow.”

As the tall one gathered his papers, Chûr made his desperate attempt. He rose and ran. Almost there; the blonde held out his hand. It glowed, but silver compared to the Visitor's feeble yellow. The pain was unimaginable. Chûr felt as if every part of him had been crushed. He tried to scream but his mouth would not work. First he fell to his knees, then on his jaw.

__________------__________

Minister Tarnbohl muttered, “That could have gone better. What did you learn?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “Nothing I expected. He is just trying to get away. Lad walked here on his own. He had no idea who his parents are and it seems he got some of his father’s sorcery, that’s what knocked him out. I don’t think he knows that either. He’s not here to kill anyone.”

“When will he wake?”

“I’ve taken blows like that and was out for twelve, eighteen hours. He will wake sore and starving. Trust me.”

“Does he speak any Westron?”

“Not that I could tell. Mordoran Plainstongue and passable Variag. Southron too, but I don’t know know it well.”

Tarnbohl rubbed his chin, “We know the father. What of the mother?”

“One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. She was a slave of the Assured, a pleasure tribute from his vassal state. She got away the same way her boy did. Chûran is her name. She was the one who told us how to defeat Nulvanash. Without her, it never would have worked. The last time I saw her she asked if I saw someone who looked like her, would I spare him. Nag Kath shook his head, “I saw the boy at the battle but then it was every man for himself.”

The Minister had a report to make. “What do we do with him?”

Nag Kath said practically, “Let him sleep then feed him a real meal. I will sit with him until he wakes. He will be confused.”

The lad’s color was good and his breathing was more even. That hand! He must have gotten that from da. The sun was a few hours up when Chûr woke and pretended sleep again.

“I know you are awake.”

The young man propped his head on his elbow and said, “Awake, asleep, I’ll be dead soon enough.”

How could he think anything else? “Well, don’t die too fast or you'll miss breakfast.” The Elf pointed to a plate on the table, too high up to be seen lying on the bed. The food was cold but by Ûniarra Nûrn standards; fine dining. Chûr stalked it slowly and then pounced using both hands. 

The blonde man let him eat but had none himself. He did take sips of tea, the Khand tea that was everywhere as Chûr made the turn into Harad. A sleeve wiped the wreckage from the Visitor’s mouth and he glared at the blonde. Clearly the creature had powers dwarfing Nulvanash. His own hand! Usually a source of comfort, it had betrayed him and paralyzed his entire body. Was this the evil that Uvuo said destroyed their beloved dark lord?

The food was gone. “Chûr, do you remember the scholars at the Nargil?”

“No.”

“Four men, captives of Uvuo, there to read maps and scrolls?”

“Yes, weaklings. To be slain after our victory.” He said that in complete despair, one more chore in a short lifetime of miserable chores.

“Take a closer look at me.”

The small soldier looked, blinked a couple times and leaned in slightly as comprehension came into his face. Completely reversing Nag Kath’s solemn script, Chûr began to laugh. “SO, they were even more foolish than we thought!” Only slightly more seriously, “Now, do you kill me?”

Nag Kath shook his head, “I hope not. Someone I cherish asked me to save you if I could.”

“Who gains from that, Solvansh? There are no friends in Nûrn.”

“Your mother.”

When the young man was speechless, Nag Kath filled the air, “She was Nulvanash’s concubine. She bore you and escaped the same way you did. You might have passed her on your way here. You were taken from her as a toddler, given to the Yvsuldors. But she never forgot you. She always hoped you would live.”

“Nulvanash is father?”

“Sorry.”

“So now you kill me?”

“That is not up to me.”

Chûr sat on his cot. His mind was full beyond capacity. The Assured was his father! That was awful. Some woman from that terrible land would have borne him, not so hard to believe, really. That she was still alive; less so.

And what was the blonde man? A sorcerer like Nulvanash, father Nulvanash! Not cruel though. Wasn’t that what those powers were for, to control men to your will? Chûr had no will. He only survived. He survived there and on the way. Perhaps he would survive here too. It seemed a long way to go to die now. He could not know that his interrogator asked the same question of the same King after a year of torment in the young man’s hiding place.

__________------__________

Aragorn held his chin an extra long time. Tarnbohl said nothing. The Elf explained the situation. Nag Kath made it sound neutral, just facts, but there was a bias to let the young man live. A sorcerer! Weaker than his father but a holdover of when that was more common. Nag Kath had no idea what to do with him either. Teach him to paint?! 

On the bright side; this was not a conspiracy of fell legions trying to destroy the country one flatbread at a time. Arwen! Ever vigilant Arwen, finally with a child to make her staying bearable. The King flattered himself that he alone was worth the sacrifice, but the prospect of Eldarion sealed her bargain.

King Elessar rose. “Let us have a look at him.”

Elf, Minister and Liege walked back to the holding cell. The guard let them in and stood by the door. Chûr was still sitting at the table thinking he might get out of this alive as the three approached, not recognizing the King in the dark without his crown and regalia. Nag Kath came closer and said, “Chûr, this is, uhm, Strider. He is going to ask you some questions.”

It had been a while since that name was said on the seventh. Strider asked, “Did you come to the ceremony to kill the King and Queen?”

Chûr looked at all three faces while the other tall one translated, “No.”

The King wondered, “Then why did you come?

The Elf’s translation; “In the market, they said there would be free food.”

Aragorn cracked a Nag Kath grin and clapped the Elf on the shoulder, “He is all yours. What will you do with him?”

“I will teach him right-living … and I will learn every secret the Witch-King left behind.” 

He felt like an archery Sarn't, “Aw right, follow me. Don’t run away or I will curse you.” Could he do that? Might come in handy. The tall, ageless man and the short, young man walked out the seventh gate, the sixth gate and made for Nag Kath’s house. Chûr’s head was on a swivel looking at all the people. As an Yvsuldor, he was feared, his red collar could mean pain, or worse. Here; no one seemed afraid of anyone. They looked at each other!

“Hi Turnlie, this is Chûr. He is staying for a while. Everything is fine now. I expect the lad is hungry.”

“I got more of the gollisks. They were fresh and the others, well, maybe a bit long in the bin, sir.”

“Chûr doesn’t speak a word of our tongue but the sooner he learns, the better for all.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We are going to get him some clothes and run a few more errands. Be back by dinner.”

“Very good, sir.”

Their first stop was Kathen Properties. Secretary Stewant was putting the rental records away. “Oh, hello Nag Kath. You almost missed me.”

“I need you to send a runner to Osgiliath and fetch Phylless and Miss Fennel back. All’s well.”

“I think Wallendorn is here. Can he use Charlo? His horse threw a shoe.”

“That’s fine. Please have someone tell the Ambassador too.”

The two found Gurren’s general store where was purchased as much as they could carry of outer and undergarments, a hat, boots, belt, jacket, socks, and everything else a young Visitor about town needed that summer. The cargo was redistributed after a young woman looked at Chûr and he walked into a donkey. Man-carts nearly got him twice. 

When they struggled in the door, Reyald was relaxing on the couch with a goblet of Dorwinion. “Out marketing, eh? This had better be good.”

The shoppers dumped their loads on the dining table. Reyald thought the young man was a bearer but he just stood there. Nag Kath said, “Reyald, may I introduce Vanteg Chûr? He is a sorcerer visiting from Mordor.”

The normally smooth-tongued Ambassador gaped for a few seconds, “I supposed I asked for that. Does Mr. Chûr come with an explanation?”

“It’s a beauty. Is gollisk all right?”

“I’ve eaten, thank you.”

Nag Kath said to the pretty young man in Khandian, “Chûr, this is Reyald Conath.”

The Visitor bowed and said, “Mr. Conash.”

Ambassador Conath asked, “Do the girls know about this?”

“Wallendorn is getting mine now. The only ones who know are you, me, Tarnbohl and the King. Arwen will know soon and that’s one more call to stick my head on a pike. Officially, he is from Khand.” Reyald heard the updated version and went home to tell Ardatha about the Variag here on holiday.

Phylless was home by the four-bell, relieved that her husband had said all was well. She had a hundred questions. When she walked in the door and saw a clean, well-dressed young man stuffing his face with cucumbers and bread, she had a hundred and one. Chur already learned that here one stands and bows to women much like one does for superior officers. After the shortest possible answer to her newest question, Phyll walked over to the young man saying how pleased she was to meet him. He smiled hoping that was the right thing.

“Dear, will our son be staying with us long?”

“No, but I have to keep him close. I will think of something.”

Phylless had her clever-face on, “Show him his mother’s picture.”

The orc thought of saying something then he dashed upstairs to thumb through the hanging folio. He came back down with his portrait of Chûran. Taller, with a stronger chin, he could be her brother. Nag Kath sat down next to his unexpected guest and said in Variag, “This is a picture I drew of your mother. Her name is Chûran and she lives in Lhûg.”

This was of enough moment that the Visitor stopped eating. His eyes bore into the paper. Other children had mothers. Some had fathers. He had the Visitors. Nag Kath told him what he guessed about Chûr’s beginnings. He skipped her involvement in the coup until he gauged how the young officer felt about the outcome. 

Chûr asked, “You drew this?”

“Yes, that is one of the things I do.” He took Chûr’s picture out of his jacket. “This was from the ceremony and what I remembered from the Nargil. Your mother asked me to save you if I could. There wasn’t much I could do about that.”

“Did you murder the Assured?”

The Elf would rather have saved that question but he would not avoid it either. “We tricked him. He sought more power. That was bad.”

“Yes. The dark one Uvuo?”

“A knife in the ribs.”

That revelation was not so upsetting that the junior Richtren could not have more cucumber slices. “And now you are sorcerer?”

“There are many. I am on the side that wants people to be free.”

Cucumbers stopped again. Chûr stared at the woman’s picture on the table. A tribute woman. He had never had a woman. Men had taken him and he did not care for that. Hopefully, women were different. Phylless joined them. She had no Khandian but was a keen observer of emotions. Fennel was hovering as well. She and Turnlie were standing at the kitchen door when Nag Kath gave his condensed explanation to Phyll. Somehow they imagined dark servants practicing foul arts and avoiding vegetables.

After the last slice hit bottom Chûr asked, “What do I do now?”

Nag Kath became the King. Phylless was not the Queen. A creature who was more than he seemed was newly released into the White City. All the Elf remembered of his first couple days out of gaol was how pretty things were. It informed every step after that. Did he need a Quastille, a Tallazh? The Elf asked, “What do you like to do? What do you want to be?”

Those were grossly unfair questions for a Visitor or an orc. Nag Kath supposed Chûr knew a great deal more of the world than he did but this must all seem so large, so distorted. The young man tried anyway, “I do not want to be dark. I will learn, then decide.” In the raw, transactional world of his birth, there was a price. “What do you want?”

Nag Kath was ready for that one. “I want you to be light, and tell me all about the dark ones. They are the enemy.”

As much as he wished, Chûr could not make more cucumbers appear on the plate. Yes, he would gladly tell of his training. The clean clothes felt nice. The basin bath was not so terrible either. The woman did not cower or divert her eyes. Were they all like that? This one was taken. Even he knew not to interfere. Finally he said, “Yes, I will do that.”

Practicality arrived in the form of Shurran Conath. The big Northman was about the same age as Chûr although the newcomer did not know how old he was. Shur, pronounced with a soft ‘sh’ rather than the hard ‘ch’ and long ‘û’ of the Nûrn, smiled at the young man and was introduced. Uncle Nag asked, “Shur, how’s your Khandian coming?”

“Never better.” He didn’t speak a word.

“How would you like to take our guest out for a meat lunch?”

“Glad to. Anything I need to know first?”

“Not really. Lose him and we’ll dock your pay.” Nag Kath turned to Chûr, “He will take you for more food.”

The Nûrn walked out and smiled at Shurran. Shurran gave a half smile back to the Kaths as he shut the door behind him. Phylless took a sip of her tea and said, “What will you do with him, Nag?”

“I think the same thing they did to me. I will be the tutor of light and dark. Someone else has to teach him how to live free. With my understanding wife’s permission, he can stay here for a little while but the hard part is where to put him. What do you think?”

“He can stay here.”

“I mean after that. I was in the art school. Maybe there is some other kind of school for foreigners come to the White City for learning.”

Phyll said casually to her simple Uruk, “It is a sorry thing that between us we don’t know anyone who knows everything going on in the White City.”

__________------__________

“Dear Nag Kath, Phyll, where have you been. Phyll, Deniise asked after you at tea. And you …” directed at the changeling, “... haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Phylless sat on Tal’s comfortable couch and said, “My husband has been up to his usual adventures.” That was followed by a kind but prompting glance.

Even in his concise manner, the story took fifteen minutes. The ladies sipped their tea and had a few of the finger cakes. Tal summarized, “So, you have a wizard from Mordor who people thought came here to cause trouble but he is just a refugee. He is smart, doesn’t speak a word of our tongue, is unmarried, pretty to look at and has no idea what to do.”

Nag Kath gulped his assent.

“What about learning a trade?”

“I need to keep my eye on him, a small matter of being the last Visitor.”

Tal offered, “How about in the Khandian sector?”

“That’s the last place. They would spot him as a Nûrn in a blink. It has to be someplace where he can meet people his own age and learn they are not his enemy. If he was just a lad from the provinces, this would be easier.”

Tal would think about it.

Shurran solved it a couple days later. They went to lunch at a workingman’s pub on the third almost directly up from Timalen’s studio. Two of Shur’s builder friends lived in a boarding house four buildings over. Their boss was waiting for his customer to pay him so he declared the day over and the lads would put in longer hours tomorrow. That called for ale!

Visitors of the order of Yvsuldor did not drink. It invited weakness and false notions! Peoples of Khand and Harad did drink after dark. That was a rich man’s pleasure. Those folk were few and far between for a Nûrn trying not to attract attention. But when the dusty workman thumped a pitcher on the table to go with the mutton stew, well, what could one say?

Shurran had done design work for their boss two projects ago and they talked about that while the young guest listened. He could not determine their protocol. In his world and the one he had traveled through; men were defined by their relationship in the pack. One was highest, one lowest, most jostled for position in-between. These men did not do that. His host was better groomed and therefore of higher status, but they carried on as equals. How strange! When it was time to go; all three counted out copper coins and left them on the table without fear someone would steal them. His seven groats were not included.

Shurran and Chûr got back to Nag Kath’s house after the fish was served so they both had another plate. It reminded the Elf that he had to have the same talk that failed with Brenen about Northmen and meals o’plenty. Shur mentioned meeting his pals at the Rusty Wheel and that they lived in Mrs. Zepruldan’s boarding house. That was good because the old lady did not allow alcohol and his friends didn’t need any more.

Phylless raised her eyebrow. “Shur, is that a place where young men can stay while they sort-out their situation in our fair city?”

Shurran looked at the eyes around the table assessing the question in context, “Aye Phyll. Men only, they get a room or share. Sizes depend on price. Some have windows. Most guests are tradesmen who don’t have to live in the shop anymore, so they aren’t poor. Old Mrs. Zepruldan washes the sheets once a month. If it isn’t that one, there are three other houses right there, two more for women.”

Phylless asked Chûr, “How is your dinner?” Gollisks are a small whisker-fish that taste like trout. The Nûrn inhaled them.

Chûr stayed with them for a week, giving Nag Kath time to structure teaching Westron and start a long, thorough probe into what the young man was taught. The Elf remembered he had a Richtren collar even as a lad. That and his parentage; he must have been being groomed for higher things. Did they know about the gift? Nag Kath thought if his father knew, he might murder him. Immortals do not need successors.

The Nûrn was unlettered. There was no written form for their slave dialect. But he knew every one of the rock symbols by heart; their function, how they played off each other and when they were to be summoned. He also could recite long catechisms that included more than a little Black Speech about their storied history. They followed in the style of the Rhûnic Lore-Sayers with cadence to emphasize important passages and stimulate accuracy. It would take a long time to draw and write them all.

On the eighth day, the Elf and Visitor strolled down to the boarding block with Shurran who took a few hours off. The better choice was a smaller hostel run by the estimable Miss Oppenlieght. It had a fellow from Pelargir, two brothers from Dol Amroth and five more from the city. Room and dinner was twenty-two groats a month for a fair sized room with a window, desk, basin and raised bed. Elf-eyes looked for bugs. The door locks could not stop even an honest man. Being caught in someone else’s room without leave was grounds for eviction. So was having a woman unless approved with the door open. Like most of these places, a strapping fellow on the block saw to enforcement.

Most days, teacher and student would get together for two hours, there, at the Elf’s or over a meal. Chûr was used to much longer and rigorous study but Nag Kath had other duties. The young man came to dinner once a week. 

One of the most important things was that he made friends, slowly at first but after a month, he had things to do. He liked the plays and singing which were in full-swing in public parks. Sometimes he would stop by Shurran’s office to say hello. Being quiet, he wasn’t in the way and the architect let him watch when his partner was out.

__________------__________

As happens to all attractive young men, he caught the eyes of females. Why not? Chûr was well-dressed, clean, relatively unscarred and did not talk too much. He, Haldess of Pelargir and Regandir of the glass trade went to visit friends on the second. Today was the holy day of an ancient prophet who encouraged folk to cast off their cares. An absurd notion, but then, these people had few gods who called for sacrifice. How did one sate them?

Evidently with ale. The tall Solvansh, also known as Kath, had given him an assortment of copper and even a few silver coins to buy meals and things he needed. They would not be meeting today since the Kath had solemn observances of his own. Haldess, whose parents sent things on boats for him to sell, knew a place of worship. It seemed like many places nearby but he respected their queer beliefs. 

When they arrived, services had already begun. The tables were all taken so they approached on foot and asked the burly counterman for three mugs. Already poured, they left coppers and moved back to the middle of the room. Haldess saw several women he knew and introduced his friends from the rooming house. For some unfathomable reason, females were allowed out, unchaperoned, and permitted to share in the beer. It made them friendly. It made them very friendly. 

The following day, Chûr’s concentration during the right-living lesson lagged. He forgot sayings and put words in the wrong order. The tongue of Gondor was not difficult as long as one remembered there were only so many sounds. There were no nuances. You could make the word as long as your tongue cooperated. The Kath leaned back in his chair and smiled, as he often did, “Did you enjoy the feast?”

Chûr was not sure what to say. He had been here long enough to think he would not be beaten for drinking and being taken to a woman’s room. He found women much preferable to the forceful Southrons. It was unfortunate that the holy day was only once a year. 

He murmured in the common-tongue, “Yes, Nag Kath. I joined friends. I regret I did not learn the proper sayings.” 

The Elf stuck to Khandian, “Well, they are complicated. The holiday is to forgive transgressions. I am sure you showed respect to others?”

“So I was told.”

__________------__________

As summer became fall, the Elf increased the depth of Chûr’s emersion into the dark lords’ instruction. So far, he concentrated on Westron, concepts of right living and writing. The last improved quickly when he realized the young man was left-handed. 

The dutiful husband also spent more time with his bride. They went to Osgiliath for several days at a time, enjoyed plays and songs, he took her to the private dance clubs on the fifth and they enjoyed themselves. As he told Shurran, a wife needs things to do. Her parents would visit in October. 

After the first couple reports to Minister Tarnbohl, interest from the palace slackened. An organized gang of thieves was keeping the guardi busy. Umbars were suspected, as usual, but they arrested a nest of men from the Lebennin side of the delta. Chûr took some leisure time to explore more of Minas Tirith and wandered into a Khandian enclave. He looked enough like the transitory folk that some called to him in greeting. He replied. By now he had learned to smile too. 

Some nuance in his voice set hairs on end. As he waited to buy Nag Kath some of the tea he liked, two men attacked him with weighted sticks. Chûr ducked the first blow but the second cracked his forearm raised to defend his head. No one was coming from the other side so he ran as fast as he could, which was faster than his assailants, and made it to the yarn mall before pulling back his sleeve to look at the angry bruise. Unbuttoning his shirt so he could put the arm in as a makeshift sling, he trudged up to his teacher’s home.

The sorcerer hummed tonelessly as he looked at the wound. It was a minor fracture. Since it was easier not to let patients know it was coming, he used a touch of the ‘fast’ to push a bone-chip back in place. Chûr flinched but did not cry out. Then he watched the Kath hold his arm to either side of the bruise with both hands. They turned color, silver on the backs and yellow on the palms until the silver displaced it. 

Chûr heard him tell the fat cook to go upstairs and get one of his socks and cloth. Then she went to the kitchen and mixed a bowl of wheat paste. Nag Kath cut the end of the sock with his little knife and put it over the break. Then he wrapped it loosely with cloth soaked in the bread fixings to dry. Only after he was done did the Elf ask, “Meet some unpleasant folk?”

The young man’s Westron was good enough to say, “In Khand town. They heard my accent and then two men came at me with clubs.” 

For any other man in the world, it would have been chalked-up to regional animosity. Not here. Were they right-livers who recognized a fell enemy? Were they losers in the fight? They were probably among the thousands who had a grudge against the capital of all grudges and took it out on a refugee. Nag Kath had him describe exactly where he was and what the men looked like. Chûr did not think Solvansh Kath would disembowel them, but he would investigate. Chûr was to keep that arm dry.

“Fûl or Orlo?”

His manhood was in a vise, gripped by someone across the dark path. He knew if he screamed the pressure would become unbearable. His family was inside. Durachuv was at his home. He was alone. The grip tightened. Oh please, if life was meant to be lived in harmony and protection of those he loved, please let this stop.

It did not. Finally he squealed, “Orlo!”

The pain was less. The man was gone. His wife would be disappointed tonight.

There was an element of bitter-sweetness in store. The Elf and his charge went to see Scholar of Counting Vientis. His mother cautiously opened the peep door and asked his business. He said who he was. She didn’t remember the name but recalled the face and swung the door wide.

Vientis was in the first stages of the wasting disease. He knew it and was making his peace with the world. The malady could strike almost anywhere in the body and spread from there. Certain foods and herbs could slow or even stop the ravages but it always won in the end. He greeted the Elf and Nûrn in the same large room Nag Kath visited before.

After making the guests comfortable he sat and said, “It is good to see you again, Mr. Kath. Does your call have to do with Mr. Groan?”

“Only in passing. I said I would let you know where my inquiries led. They led me to this young man.”

Vientis had a sip of tea before admitting, “I do not have very long, Mr. Kath. My old interests are losing their appeal.”

Nag Kath looked at the scholar with compassion. He knew the toll better than most. As with most long stories, the hero of the Mordor war started slowly and succinctly, “Mr. Vientis, this is Vanteg Chûr. He is the son of Nulvanash the Assured and Chûran of Khand.” The Elf took a sip of tea and looked at Chûr before continuing, “His life’s dark learning was been almost completely in the symbols and meaning of the stone I described.

“If you can find it within yourself to sit with the lad, he can tell you many of the things we pondered before I went to the black lands.”

The scholar looked at his tea but did not reach for it. Instead, he sat back on his couch and said, “I will consider that. Some days are better than others. May I let you know shortly?”

“Certainly.”

Vientis looked at the young Richtren and asked in a faraway voice, “And what do you say to that?”, not really expecting the young man to understand.”

Chûr replied in fair Westron with confidence, “I will learn more about myself than you will, best of sirs.”

Nag Kath gave him a card on the way out.

Nag Kath increased his studies. Twice, he slipped the young Visitor into a confused state for the clearest rendering of his indoctrination. Chûr never really believed it. Fanatics were few but ambition and fear were persuasive. In Chûr’s normal mind the Elf finally asked of Orlo. For some reason he thought this would bring visions of raging hatred and vengeance. It seemed Righters, as he called them, were more of a nuisance, harmless peasants who were easily crushed before their women’s eyes, folk to be whipped for lighting their puny candles. That was more the job of the field Ghoranduls. In the capital, most men were line soldiers; either as guards to the Assured or outriders. Only the very few were higher Richtrens, eligible for the top position. He was made to attend some of their Sayings. He would rather ride his horse but when told, one did.

Orlo? No, that was Ulorö. It was the symbol the Kath showed him. All knew that. It was forbidden to write and, of course, excluded from the glyph. No combination of other symbols could eliminate its taint. Was Orlo a man, or a sorcerer? It was said by those who came long before that there was a man but he was reduced to spirit when Sauron first came to the Nûrn. Who could stand against that? Chûr knew absolutely nothing about the wizards or the Valar or anything of creation as men and Elves knew it. There had been rings. His inattentive father had one. The Kath destroyed it so it was not very powerful, though he was castigated by the Dwarves, whoever they are.

Three weeks later they heard from Scholar Vientis. He hoped young Mr. Vanteg would come visit him. Chûr never forgot a place and went by himself at the requested time. Over the next few months he went twice a week, almost like Tallazh came to Quastille’s. Vientis had decided that in his remaining time on earth he would compile what he could of his first passion for posterity. It would be a worthy ending to a worthy life. The Elf tagged along about every fourth session since he had a great deal more context of wider Nûrn and the surrounding lands. The project gave the scholar strength, even as his ability to concentrate in their meetings dwindled.

In that time, Nag Kath cross-referenced his archives for anything to do with the right-livers going back in time. The journal from Dol Amroth was invaluable. Was Orlo reduced to spirit? That was different than dead, and the Yvsuldors knew their dead. It seemed the avatar was a physical presence until the Battle of Akhara sometime around 2,000 of the last age. After that, references were spotty. Appearances were brief, always in summer, with vague recollections. The changeling would keep that on the first page of things to discover in his endless life.

Chûr’s arm was fine. He had friends. He avoided Khand town though he would have been as safe there as in the palace after his tutor applied the squeeze. His Feast woman seemed to be a one-time union. He might not mention it to the imposing Kath but he hadn’t said anything to Shurran either, and young men talk.

Syndolan was time to introduce his ward to the regulars. The Elf had kept him at arm’s length. But he was a citizen now. His Westron was understandable. He could read a little and make change of a silver. And he was a nice young fellow. It was the usual colorful affair. Chûr stayed close to Shurran or Phylless who always treated him well but he would venture off into the throng. So these were Dwarves! They were short but the Hobbits were shorter. They could both drink to shame him. Khandians are not good drinkers. He had a terrible voice, but for Syndolan songs that was not disqualifying. The King’s rockets were amazing. Was that what happened to the famed tower said to be above Barad Dur?

Tal had heard a lot about the young man but this was the first time she had seen him. “Oh, Nag, he is pretty.”

“I’ve told you Tal, men are handsome, women are pretty.”

“I’ve seen plenty who weren’t either. He’s pretty. He’s not evil, is he?”

“Less than most.”

“Whatever will you do with him?”

“He is almost ready to tell us.”

__________------__________

Three days into the new year, Scholar Vientis sent a message, the first they had received in a month. Both walked down to the pleasant home on the second/north. For the first time, the old woman opened the door without peeping first. She said, “Please, come in. You are expected.”

Vientis was in a robe on the couch looking wan and gray. He weakly waved his hand for his guests to assume their usual seats. The archivist put his spectacles in a pocket and began a presentation he had carefully orchestrated, since he could only give it once. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for your assistance. Renewed interest gave me a little extra time to do something worthwhile, something that made me think less of myself.

He coughed and wiped his lips with a bloody handkerchief. “On the table is my last work; a compendium of the ancient symbols, their meanings and uses.” The next sentence had to wait a moment, “I would have given it over to the College of Scholars to accumulate learned dust in the stacks. It is my sincere hope that you will study it first, copy it if you like, and then archive it with the other forgotten studies. Will you do that for me, Mr. Kath?”

Nag Kath nodded. Vientis had a little more. “My mother will need help. I am in a position to leave her well-off, but she knows little outside our home. I asked around and know you are in the property business. Would you see that an appropriate woman from your staff attends her so she will not be …” He fought back a tear, “ … will not be so alone?”

“It would be my honor, Mr. Vientis.”

The learned man gave a thin smile and was left in peace. 

It was time to get to the heart of matters with the young Richtren. Of all the many things they discussed, Chûr’s magic was never included. The Nûrn kept it hidden. He did not know the Kath had discovered it the day they met. Two days after Vientis’ funeral they studied at Nag Kath’s. The ladies found something else to do. The Elf said, “Chûr, I need you to tell me about your ability to draw the color from your hand.”

There was no pretending with the Kath. Chûr was now sure that this was not a confession to a mortal crime. The northerling already knew. He probably always knew. The young man started slowly, “When I was little, my hand would shine when I was punished. It made the pain smaller. Sometimes it would go away.”

“Does this feeling come for other things?”

“Oh, no. I have kept it hidden. I was not punished much as I grew, but was glad of it.”

Nag Kath unfolded the blade on his little knife and cut a small, jagged slice in Chûr’s forearm, near the healed break. The young man held his arm firm and did not make a sound. The Elf said, “I want you to think of that healing. Be calm and imagine the wound sealing.”

He tried and appeared to be straining. Nag Kath coaxed, “Relax, let it come to you.” There was no color but the bleeding stopped. The Elf wiped the cut with a dinner cloth and looked. It would leave a faint scar, but it was a day or two ahead of where a man with the same laceration would be. 

Chûr thought it took forever for the Kath to speak. When he did, he said, “You have some healer in you, young man. Does your land have healers?”

“No. It was said some women could, but the Assured slew them all.”

“I suspect he had that power but turned against it and used it to harm. It is good that you kept this to yourself. Now I have to ask something I asked the day we met. It is a fairer question now. You have been here, and many places, seen much in your short life, some of it very cruel. But some fair as well ... Have you thought of what you might like to do in this world?”

“I should like to meet my mother.”

Nag Kath said, “I thought you might. I did not tell my friends in that land because your test might not have gone so well. But I will use such tools as I have to help. You could invite her here or go there, with no guarantee that she would get the message or come.”

Chûr smiled, “You cannot fly me there with your powers?”

“Nay, sorry, I am very young for my kind and not strong. Even the greatest had to walk or ride.” Nag Kath was glad the fell-beasts had been destroyed. “On good horses we can get there in three months by circling from the north. Through Mordor would be faster but not safe. It is still a hard and dangerous route. My friends will help.”

“You will take me there?”

The Elf said, “I have a few loose ends to attend.” Nag Kath looked the Nûrn over and added, “We need to work on your tale.”

They were early. The route was warm but could get snow until March. That would give them time to prepare. Nag Kath bought him a good horse and was impressed by how well he rode. At his weight, he was no burden. He had clothes and knew what money was. It went a lot further in Rhûn and it was always a good idea to have a lot of individual groats in an assortment of pockets. The plan was to travel through Dagorlad and track south of the Rhûn Sea to Mistrand, possibly Yhammâs Fruhir, at their invitation. After all, his was not preferred blood.

From there they would take the same route Nag Kath did to Lhûg, hoping Chûran would be there. The route avoided the Bror but not his southern troops. He was fairly sure with his experience he could pass through on good terms, or win if not. Chûr had not held a sword since losing his in the Nargil. It took some looking, but Bessandal’s quartermaster dug a cavalry saber from the pile that fit the young man’s arm and eye. 

Phylless took it well. She knew her man lived his life on these quests. This should be a short one with no intended wars. Nag Kath tended to cause wars. She told him, “I know you must go, but I will miss you terribly. Please tell me what draws you there?”

“I know more of the sorcerer I met in Rhûn. It was his symbol kept the trolls asleep so long. There are certainly more, perhaps even thinking monsters capable of rule. I would keep them all buried, or worse. And the peoples of those lands do not have anyone of power. I was there briefly, successfully, but they are closest to where trouble may brew. Chûr might fill the bill.”

She would wait. She had things to do, perhaps visit her folks for a while. He was glad she took the long view but they were much together in the meantime.


	17. Family Reunion

**_Chapter 17_ **

**_Family Reunion_ **

On the second of March the two riders made for Osgiliath. Chûr had been there several times getting used to his mount, a mare called Hilli. Not branded Lossarnach but with those lines, she was faster than she looked. That was was no accident. From there, they skirted the tip of Mordor past the Black Gate, this time avoiding the Dead Marshes. 

This was new ground for the Elf since they veered almost due east towards the foot of the Nurukhizdin range bordering the western Rhûn. He knew above them well. He did know there was not a lot of water on this ride until reaching the tributaries of the Gathod some ten day’s hence. They traveled light with yet another recipe of Lembas, ever nearer to the real thing, and water bags. 

Chûr journeyed well. This must be luxury compared to his ordeal through Harad. Unlike most young men, he was not anxious to talk at the campfire. Nag Kath would draw him out, particularly on healing. Scars and proven ability to withstand pain were valued in Ûniarra Nûrn. His own father would serve them out as tests. In their first Kath Bath, the Elf saw marks on the lad’s back that were not natural wounds. Perhaps his self-healing reduced them.

On their ninth day from Dagorlad they started crossing small streams making north from the Ened Lithui and two days later reached the Gathod, called something else by all the many people who had lived here. In three more days they reached the port city of Lest, Nag Kath’s fourth of the four points on the star-shaped sea. The Gathod had considerable flow, even now before the snows of north Mordor began melting.

Lest was a curious sort of town. West of the river was Gondor on the map but the peoples were definitely Rhûnic, they used the eastern names, dressed and ate like their brethren along the eastern coast and grew the gureeq grain. Dorwinion lay above the small coastal range and wanted nothing to do with this part of the sea.

East of the river, where the town lay, was definitely Rhûn. Most subjects spoke passable Westron, though. With an assortment of tongues, the travelers could be from anywhere they wanted. Tonight they wanted to be in the one nice inn with a tavern downstairs. The wine was from the east coast and was good. There was also a very tasty red ale. Nag Kath had forgotten how much he liked it. There were no bottom fish offered.

Chûr wanted to see his mother but he was not driven. They spent two days strolling around the city of about two thousand. As always, Nag Kath visited the boat-builders who got good timber from the western hills. He used what he called his sketch-trap to attract onlookers and hint of things Orlo said. Folk were nice but he got no bites. The young man got appreciative looks from both men and women. So did Nag Kath, but he never noticed.

The Elf had to do his first bit of dissembling. Two days east was Yhammâs Fruhir. He wanted to see everyone there for fellowship and answers. But he could not just ride in with the Prince of Visitors. They crossed the range of hills forming the nose of Gathod and made camp on a stream not far from the hidden path to the retreat. Green wood made for a smoky fire.

When the Elf was in no hurry to saddle-up, Chur said, “It seems we are waiting for an invitation.”

“We are waiting for an inspection. Your da was not beloved in these parts.”

The youngster responded; “I suppose I should get used to that.”

“Not for long. You are your own man now. People will either accept that or not. Do not let it affect your path. I have had to live the same way so take courage from me. I will tell them all and they will give us counsel or not, understanding you are under my protection.”

“Thank you for that. What should I know?”

“These are the people of Orlo. Your mother lives among them as well.”

______________-------______________

Later in the afternoon, two riders came from the direction of Mistrand. They could be ordinary travelers. They could have doubled around to give that impression. Tea was ready either way.

In Rhûnic one of them said, “Hello and good day. You travel easy to rest so early.”

Nag Kath would do the talking. In Westron he said, “Aye, tea is still hot if we can offer you refreshment after your long ride.”

The second man grinned and said in the common-tongue, “That is very convenient. I do not see how we can refuse.”

The men dismounted cautiously but let the reins drop and approached from the other side of the fire from the seated campers. Nag Kath nodded to Chûr who handed each of them a tin camp-cup and filled it from the pan with Telandian, unusual this far north. It wasn’t too hot to drink so both men took a long pull and sat in the grass around the pit.

The first rider said, “Thank you, friend. This is a blend we rarely taste here in the wilds.”

The Elf replied, “It is one of my favorites. I learned to enjoy it many years ago.”

The second man, older and larger than the first smiled and said by way of a question, “Then you must be much traveled.”

“Indeed. Though I have only been here once before, some nine years ago. I recall sheep pastures where I stayed, and also many songs and verses of those wiser than myself. Then I rode further east.”

The first man, who Nag Kath figured was very fast at need, wondered, “It sounds a very fair place to be welcomed.”

“I would seek such a welcome, but I travel with my young friend. One of his parents is a woman of Lhûg, a place of right-living. The other parent; less so. We would not impose.”

By now they knew exactly who the tall blonde man was. Considering the work he had done below, they would take a chance on the lad. The bigger Righter said, “Let us go to find such hospitality.”

That should have done it but Nag Kath said, “His safety is on my head if this needs to be considered in council.”

The man laughed, “I think you will be fine.”

They were Verandad and Tholas Thune. Chûr was introduced by his full name which caused no alarm. It was two hours back over the ridge and into the west-facing valley of such beauty and peace. Yhammâs Fruhir looked exactly the same. The stream where he soothed his burned mouth burbled as it had. The travelers waited with their horses while the men went into the Ghurate.

Grandol Zoldan himself walked out to bow saying, “Nag Kath! We always thought you would come again.”

“Thank you Ghur Zoldan. This is my friend Vanteg Chûr. We travel southeast along my old route.”

The graying elder showed them inside. He was the only member of the leadership in just then which was for the best. The Elf’s exploits, including the trolls of Pelargir were known here, nothing like saucy gossip, even in hallowed halls! Chûr smiled but kept quiet. He was concerned about his history but decided to follow the Kath’s advice and hold true to himself.

That came quickly, “Ghur Zoldan, my friend is the son of Chûran of Lhûg, a woman who helped greatly in the battle. His father was the Assured, and he has some of the same abilities, now devoted to higher ideals.”

The Ghur displayed no concern at all. “Splendid! You remember hearing that one of our strongest adherents was among those you battled all those years ago in Dale. Amgrû is now among ancestors who will have welcomed him warmly.” He turned to Chûr, “Young man, I hope your visit will help you find peace.”

The Ghur asked more generally, “Nag Kath, do you seek other things from your stay?”

“Yes. I know quite a bit more than I did. But as is the nature of knowledge, that only means more questions. Perhaps we can take our ease and learn from those who observe more carefully?”

“You shall, you shall! But first, I think a fine meal. Word will already be abroad of your return. Tonight you shall see a few old friends.”

They eat early here. There were no major observances tonight but there were always Sayings and small group conversations, some specific, some free-flowing depending on the characters. Dinner was mutton, of course. They had forgotten what Nag Kath ate but there were plenty of other foods. 

The old friend was the merchant Prestigir who was a permanent resident now. He taught lore of the wider world, mostly practical things but also of right-living as found there. Chûr knew what Nag Kath knew about right living but had only heard that source. He struggled with Rhûnic so Prestigir changed to Khandian which was almost as widely spoken here.

Early to bed, early to rise; they ate their porridge and hiked over the small hill to the pasture overlooking the Bay of Lest. Animals and crops grown here provided cash and trade goods that could not be made locally. Donations paid for most things. Yhammâs Fruhir had a few right-living supporters who had done well in the world.

Sadly, Lorist Brestegir had gone to his ancestors two years before but the blind Sayer and poet Criszal was still here, now too old to travel. Nag Kath approached him. He did not know if the man had been told of his return or just remembered the light tread but he greeted him by name. The Elf introduced Chûr. The first of his recitations would start soon as people were already gathering. They all looked as hard at the two as they could without staring, one was famous, the other exotic. The young man’s parentage was not widely shared.

Criszal used Khandian, his home tongue, today. Chûr was fascinated, closing his eyes and slightly swaying to the cadence. How could one man make such a beautiful sound? He had heard the singing of individuals and groups in Minas Tirith but that was entertainment. This was music of the soul. A long poem of loss, forgiveness and restoration followed. 

It was understood that Nag Kath’s first meeting with the Ghurate must be private. Chûr wandered around the main buildings and sat by the brook for a while. People smiled but no one bothered him. This was a place where one could be alone.

Inside: “Welcome back, Mr. Kath.”

“Thank you, Ghur Vrenstides. You do not seem any the worse for wear.”

“My wife would disagree, as is her prerogative. You are well preserved.”

Over the next two hours, Nag Kath gave them a complete history of his adventures, starting with leaving here and the Mordor coup up to his return with the son of the King of the Visitors. The lad had small powers, completely undeveloped. He contended that with the right education, he could become a useful member of the larger community. There were a great many questions, some concerns and, when they could not stand it anymore; how did he stab the troll between the eyes?!

A younger Ghur he had not met, and who seemed to be of the Rhûn/Khand borderlands asked, “Mr. Kath, did you think to leave your young charge here for our training?”

“Nay, Mr. Inuld. We first go to see his mother. He was taken from her as a babe. Bringing them together will salve the hurt for both. I think the Ghurate of Hanvas Tûr will want a look at him too. There is, or was, a healer of some power there when I was. She may help him develop his touch. Then, it is his choice of how to live, though I would hope he will come back here many times, enriching his understanding. Given his harsh upbringing, he might have been bitter but I sense someone waiting for a gentle hand.”

Another Ghur new to him said, “I think we were agreed to treat the young man well before you came in. Please stay for a time. We can explore the origins of our order and let Chûr take his ease.”

They were there another ten days. Chûr never missed hearing Criszal in the morning, and often his afternoon song. He went to the large group meetings after dinner. That was a confusion to Nag Kath on his first trip but with a fairly good grounding in Variag, Chûr understood quite a bit. The Elf wondered if his enthusiasm was helped by the shy glances of a comely young woman. For even fledgling magicians it is not hard to sense when someone will look your way and try to avert her gaze when discovered. She was caught flat-footed more than once, smiling one time. He put her at eighteen and always in the company of her mother who looked less than pleased.

Nag Kath met with the Ghurs and others about Orlo. They were fascinated by the inverted symbols used as a ward for the river trolls. He showed them his sword, still deadly serviceable but not the elegant etched weapon to hang over the fireplace anymore. When Chûr joined them, he spoke in great detail of the glyphs, how those powers were intended to blend according to the size and placement of the symbols. The lad admitted it never seemed to work but now knew there had been those capable of wielding them in times past. Only the fanatics were sent out from the Nûrnen under Nulvanash but they did not always have the tact or intelligence to state their case.

The Elf also wanted to know a lot more about Gelansor, its origin, its purpose and, especially, how it coincided with magiks in their past. It did seem that prophets came to them in those three days but records were poor, always handed down orally if there were survivors. He brought a Variag copy of the Dol Amroth packet and Vientis’ last work.

The day before they left, a woman expecting a child in two months began having pain in her womb. Nag Kath was called urgently with his apprentice. In this part of the world, it was unseemly for men to attend women in such distress but time was of the moment. The Elf had her disrobe in her room and knelt behind her as she stood, slowly sliding one hand over her belly with the other on the small of her back. Chûr watched the silver of his hand meet the yellow of her skin as the yellow retreated into her flesh. Nag Kath discovered a vein had become restricted and opened it with stimulus. She was weakened but did not lose her balance, nor was she embarrassed or self-conscious. The pain would take some hours to fade. Nag Kath thought she would be fine.

As they walked to their quarters before the last dinner here, Chûr’s eyes were as wide as Florin. He had his feast experience and knew how babies were started because the older Visitors were serviced. But those girls were removed if they conceived. Here was a young woman, as her husband had taken her, but well along with the precious life yet to come. She smiled at both of her healers as she dressed. That was the same smile of the girl at the holy day last summer, never the false smile of the pleasure women brought for the senior Richtrens. It was the smile of a woman taking her joining to creation. Could he do that? He wanted to know more about women!

There were women in Mistrand! Some of them called to Chûr offering more than he could imagine for but a copper. After the wonder of their patient in the retreat, their pretended moans did not appeal.

There was no taint of the west here. Westron was uncommon, people were darker and occasional horses seemed to be wearing sheepskin coats. They stayed at a nice family home just east of the river with a right-living supporter told of their coming. As planned, they toured the boat-wrights looking for the old man in the picture.

When the healer had Nag Kath examine his own memories in Pelargir, he took a peek at the Orlo’s face again. His subsequent drawing was so like the original that it did not help at all. He could not remember ever having done the same subject years apart that didn’t have material differences. That was the face he was meant to remember. 

Finding no Orlos, new or old, they thanked their hosts and started the ride into Khand. It was still a long, dull trip but now spring, much greener than in summer when the grasses dried. They visited the Temple of Lókuthor. It held no more sense of power or malice than the last time. Perhaps he had found his rest. The river between Dingarthir and Lhûg was fuller. Nag Kath showed his companion the wonders of fooling the large trout with clothed hooks. No one used those here and the fish had no defense. They ate well the whole way.

______________-------______________

Oh, please let her be here! After all this time, there was no guarantee she still lived in Lhûg. Nag Kath gave his name to a new maid and asked if the lady Chûran was at home. The woman eyed him suspiciously and said she would ask before shutting and locking the door. He took that as a good sign. Chûr seemed relaxed but the Elf was sure he was roiling inside. A few minutes later the door opened and the servant showed them into the same room he remembered so well. She offered them seats but they remained standing.

Chûran came down the stairs as elegantly as he remembered, her face a little tighter but still a picture of beauty in the east. The woman looked only at the Elf. He remembered her vision was weakening. The three bowed and she smiled sweetly before saying, “Hello, Mr. Kash. Welcome. I did not think to see you here again.”

There was no reason to be coy. He replied, “You asked if I saw a young officer that I should save him for you.” Then he turned and gestured to Chûr.

It would not have been permissible in her former life but her jaw dropped before she could cover it. Then she glided to the young man and put her hands on either side of his face, very like her face. Mouth still open she looked at Nag Kath and back to her smiling son. 

Neither of them said anything. Breaking the impasse, Nag Kath said, “I am sure you need to catch-up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chûran remembered her tongue, “You might find scholars at number 40, Vue Örath, best of sirs.”

______________-------______________

40 in the Örath quarter was nearly back to the river so he climbed on Charlo and walked him down the high-street. There seemed little use to move from one squalid building to another but who knew what had happened since the collapse of the rogue Hurm? He knocked on the door. It was immediately opened by a lad who might be here for a lesson. The Elf jested, “I am here for my tutoring.”

The boy opened the door wider and asked if he had had tea. Cool would be lovely. Nag Kath asked, “Are you here alone?”

Boys do not admit when they are undefended so he answered, “Others are close by.” When the tall stranger took a chair and his chipped mug, he wasn’t so threatening. No one had told the lad to expect company.

After ten minutes, the tall blonde stood up and examined the meager library of the Lhûg School of high learning. The boy got a bit more anxious but sat on his stool reading something. On the wall was the sheet they stole from Ûniarra Nûrn with origins of right-living. That was one of the reasons Nag Kath came. He studied it intensely, losing track of time until the door opened and Lurgsh walked in.

“By the sandy balls of Nûrad! Look who darkens our door!”

The two men embraced with the warmest smiles. Corporal, Captain, Scholar and soldier Lurgsh had put on a few pounds and his full head of curly hair was grayer but there was no mistaking that smile. The man turned to the boy and said, “Antonsh, can you get our guest some tea?”

The Elf waved him off, “He got me some. Get some yourself and tell me why in the world you are still here.”

“Fair enough! I will do so!” That was the voice he imagined the man lecturing bored students in larger classes than one would ever see here. The lad turned on his stool. This would be far more interesting than rules of protocol. 

Lurgsh began, “It all went well. We got home safe. Shelturn stays at Hanvas Tûr but I see him, ummm, twice a year for a beverage. Idgshtok lives here. He married a big gal whose father runs a barrel smithy. He’s got two kids …”

Antonsh corrected, “Two and another in the oven.”

“There you have it. He drives around and sells casks to ale’ers and anyone else who wants them.”

Nag Kath rejoiced, “We will close a tavern in short order with our stories!”

Lurgsh appraised the Elf. Now with long straw-colored hair rather than black braids he looked less imposing. His tale after the battle would wait until he took care of some business. Lurgsh, I brought someone with me. I never told you all this …”

“You never told us many things!”

“Well, here’s another.” He shifted his eyes to the staring lad. 

Lurgsh reached into his pockets and pulled a fiver. “Antonsh, go down to Kelub’s and fetch us a baby-cask. Get some sweets for yourself.”

That was a hard bargain. The boy would rather hang on every word but there would be enough change to get sick twice on the cane rolls it would buy. He took the coin and was on his way.

“Chûran asked me to watch for her son, babe of Nulvanash, not yet shaving. I saw him walk by us with the fording-Richtren but we had other matters at hand. He escaped and turned-up in Minas Tirith, of all places. I captured him and he is just a regular fellow, lived with me for a year. He has some of his da’s sorcery. We just spent two weeks in Yhammâs Fruhir and I brought him to meet his mother for the first time.

“I figure he may have some use in Hanvas Tûr but I won’t go until that’s a proper invitation.”

Lurgsh held his estimable chin and said, “I’ll get someone out of here this afternoon. We’ll hear tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a note already written. It’s in the saddle-bag. Now, what’s all this?”

Lurgsh sat down and told his guest to do the same. “The school still isn’t a real school, but we filter people through for the retreat. Right-living isn’t so dangerous these days. The Khagan hasn’t converted, but we did him a good turn and pay our taxes. There’s been no trouble from the Nûrnen.”

The changeling offered, “I went back to Mordor from the west two years ago. There was old sorcery on our side of the mountains. I fought some trolls.”

“I figured that was you, never did have a bit of sense.”

“No, but I do stumble into interesting things, like one of those dogs that chases boars out of the bushes. This went deep into our old friends, and not the fool with the ring. Old friends.”

______________-------______________

In the better part of town, Chûran was still staring when her son said, “I think I remember you, behind a lattice with purple flowers growing up the side.”

She unfroze and smiled, “Yes, purple in the spring, orange in the fall.”

Then she cried, cried for a long time. Chûr showed her to the couch and sat beside her. The serving woman caught none of the exchange and was not sure this was safe but stood by if her mistress called for help. What she did call for was tea, in a voice that brooked no discussion. They held nothing back. He had been taught never to cry, so he didn’t. Chûran did often but they were tears for all the hopes and fears and regrets of the life she had no control over. 

The two scholars tried to find Idgshtok for dinner but he was in Kembril tonight and should be back mid-day. His gal might have been one of the muscle healers but was more fat than strong. She did have a gleeful gap-toothed smile and two little ones pulling on her dress for attention. Miho would tell her husband that something was brewing at the school.

Lurgsh said grandly, “I’ll tell you this for nothing, Nag Kath, the Khagan met with the Bror just like we hoped. When he got back here, he cleaned house. Those two Visitors met their ancestors in short order and he tightened the chain on that second boy. He was jostling as heir-apparent until his taste in company did for him. The first boy is back in line and there’s a third who collects butterflies far enough away that he is not considered a threat.”

The changeling said, “I’m surprised he let the two-son live.”

“It seems his interests in the Visitors were not political.”

“Well then, we need to keep him and that scholar away from the Assured’s son. He looks like his mother but likes women. One admirer got his innards rearranged for insisting.”

“Scholar Îonzuld sleeps with his ancestors. Just keeled over a month, six weeks ago.” 

Always curious, Nag Kath mused, “Any chance of a look through those books again?”

“Probably. The house is still open while his nephews sort-out their differences. I expect the handman could use a few groats.”

“For enough of them, the collection might disappear.”

“Always thinking of the higher good, Nag!”

By the time Idgshtok’s wagon made it back home the next day, Shelturn had returned himself with the message from Hanvas Tûr. And, of course, the lad was invited. There weren’t any Visitors, other than the young man himself, lurking in the shadows these days. 

It was agreed that after Idgshtok and Shelturn washed, they would collect Chûr and close Adlubb’s wine tavern that night. The three local scholars already had a pitcher on the table when Nag Kath and the curious guest came through. Introductions were made. For a few minutes, Chûr had a faraway look at the speed of events. That was gone when Idgshtok clapped him on the shoulder and said in their home language that he was glad he didn’t stab him. 

They had a roaring good time. Stares of more dignified diners were ignored. Chûr, who had learned how to tell a story by now, gave a more entertaining rendition of his escape than he told the interrogating Elf. Only Lurgsh saw his da get pushed down the cliff. Rydovosh’s men made sure he stayed there. 

Chûr was held in some respect because after allowing for his father, his mother was a heroine. Then she spent a year at the retreat finding peace within her. Now, she had the son, he wasn’t a bad ‘un … and what happened to their next pitcher?! The map was lost. Nag Kath was proud of that map. As art it was third-rate, but as strategy, it should have lived on. When Adlubb and all his staff stood around their table, the men settled the bill and went home.

Shelturn was still a soldier and he was ready after dawn porridge of gureeq. So were the travelers, even if Chûr was still a bit red about the eyes. He was not a drinker, and did not drink much the night before, but still more than usual of the potent fruit wine. The route back seemed so familiar to Nag Kath. Even in this day of safety, Shelturn still rode off to the left towards the creek and they walked the horses up several hundred feet in midstream until leaving on shale chips up the other bank. Good habits die hard.

The Ghurs were on the porch like parents after a play with greetings and introductions all round. None of them had ever met Nulvanash. Chûr looked little like him anyway but they all saw his mother’s bones. The stories told over alcohol last night were told again more thoroughly. Nag Kath was hoping to speak to folk and thumb through the archives. He also wanted to know what had been discovered of the Yvsuldor’s original mission. He reminded all that the shamble of Nulvanash did not reflect prior enforcers. 

He saw Nenwûla of the Viersh. She had a husband! It would take three of him to equal one of her but beauty is in the eye of the suitor. Exaggerated stories of her horse purge were so funny that even she smiled timidly. One of the horses was Chûr’s. He did not fondly remember holding the beast's tail swimming the Nargil. Nenwûla was one of the reasons Nag Kath came. If she agreed, and it was explained this was entirely her choice, she might help the young man had some of the same gifts, the ones she used at need. He was at a Saying now so the old conspirators could speak privately.

“I am honored, Mr. Kash. I do not know a great deal of this healing.”

“You just do what you can for him. He is a raw talent, not powerful, but any talent should be on the side of right-living.”

“If the Ghurate agrees, and the young man is sound, I will do so. I am no longer on the council. It was better for me to concentrate on my caring.”

Nag Kath explained what happened to his back and the healer of Pelargir. She knew and respected the Nûradi school, wondering how one of them made it to the great river. He gave the healer a kiss on the forehead and thanked her for her courage.

______________-------______________

Shelturn and Nag Kath left Chûr at the retreat and rode back to Lhûg for another look at those books. Lurgsh kicked himself for not doing that sooner but the great victory at the Nargil did not come with cash spoils. 

Forgery was required. The same handman from the Mordor fraud opened the door, something he hadn’t done much in the month after the funeral. Lurgsh, chosen for his commanding baritone, announced, “We have come for the books. Have they been prepared?”

The handman, no shrinking violet, countered, “This home and everything in it is the property of the Tudsh family. I have received no instruction about any books.”

Lurgsh turned to the tall, blonde, “Do I have the contract or do you?”

Nag Kath slapped his pockets and produced a rather official sheet that clearly outlined all volumes including; specific texts they remembered from their visits, some of the framed documents and other nick-knacks. He offered it to the handman and they both waited. It was signed by nephew Culhbrad the week before stating the estate had been settled. Culhbrad earned the role because his signature and chop were forged from a file at the city registry for a smaller property that had been granted outright.

The handman gave the sheet back and said, “This is most irregular. The other two nephews are not mentioned at all.” So, the man could read. It was time to set the hook.

Lurgsh acted surprised, “I cannot speak to that. I just know we were to leave cash for the other two parties so the one could sell all the books.”

“Cash?”

“Yes, it is written here, no, where’s that other sheet?” They were good at this play-acting.

The tall blonde produced another note on the same paper. “Ah, here it is. The sum of three parts in four of a Numenorean Florin was to be left here against the delivery to a buyer in Nûrad.” He gave the handman the second sheet. To make things more fungible, Lurgsh added, “We have but two of the grooved gold coins and will have to pay the rest in silver. Is that agreeable?”

That was very agreeable! Threes, as written in local script, were notoriously easy to change to twos. The handman had long experience in such household finance. Two nippers for the out-of-town nephews and ten silvers, one for cook and the rest for the handman’s pending retirement.

Lurgsh said solicitously, “Please sign here.” The lot was loaded onto a cart that looked suspiciously like an ale wagon and anchored the school’s library for many a day.

______________-------______________

After another week of scholarship, Nag Kath waved goodbye to his friends in Lhûg. Chûr was back home with his mother for a while. It meant a lot to him. He stopped by the retreat thinking he would retrace his steps to the White City from there. Nenwûla was glad to see him and made her special herbal tea. The Elf sipped it gratefully as they talked about how things had gone. 

He lost all track of time. The healer’s gentle voice brought him back, “Mr. Kath, you are distracted, yes?”

“Sorry, what?”

“You were staring at the leaves in your cup for the longest while. Are you well?”

He looked around as if he had woken from a dream. “Yes, quite well. I just remembered I have more work to do. May Those Named smile on you, dear Nenwûla.” 

Rather than make the turn at the Sea of Rhûn, the Elf rode directly north along the east bank to the capital of Kugavod. No one pestered him going through the horse-lands. Soldiers stared. Long after Frûnzar stole most of them, horses were watched more closely. A few men at the changing stations still did not eat the whisker-fish, but then, Nag Kath did not prefer them either.

Five miles from Kugavod, a half-troop of trained riders intercepted him to ask his business. He said he was paying his respects to Bror Dulgov. More westerlings did these days but not coming from this direction. He was escorted to the same place in the city compound he had always gone and a robed retainer took him back to the room of the last visit. Dulgov did not take pointless chances.

“And how are you, Lord Kath?”

“I am well your Excellency. Please forgive me for coming unannounced.”

“Your timing was good. I leave for my summer palace in a week. What brings you here?”

“I wanted to thank you for your aid with our border trouble. I was in the region and heard a piece of historical art from my homeland might be for sale. Then I will join a merchant train back to the Celduin.”

That story might not hold if he came from Mistrand but no one told the Bror. The man got closer to his side of the bars and asked, “What is this I hear about trolls on the river?”

“An old sorcery, forgotten in time. There may be more of them about.”

“It pays us all to be vigilant. Do not forget the art tax.”

Nag Kath said if he came to terms with the seller he would, of course, report any such transactions.

______________-------______________

The next morning he left Charlo at the inn and strolled to the old compound. The volunteer cucumbers had blossomed. Near the center of the oval was where Orlo had him set the basin – the basin of swirling leaves – leaves of remembrance. He looked at the hole in the wall with the winding trail towards the market district that his little guide discouraged him from taking the last time. Orlo had told him in this very place;

**_“Remember in leaving, you can not always take the straight path.”_ **

The path was grown-over with weeds. He put one foot in front of the other and slowly walked back towards town. A hundred paces later he felt the token, something he would not have noticed then. A minute of brushing away dirt showed a copper coin, now brown from age. Had he been meant to see this the first time? It was the five-groat copper Orlo dropped and he retrieved. He remembered because it same size as a fiver but had only a single symbol he did not recognize. 

In the main street he approached a moneylender, distinguishable by his yellow cap. The ignorant foreigner inquired, “Excuse me sir, I was given this in change. Is it the same as a five-groat coin?

The man looked at both sides carefully. He shook his head and said, “No, same size, but the ruler ordered them all gathered many years ago and melted to bronze for battle. A few might be here or there but this is only the second I have seen. I will give you a five-groat westerling coin for it.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall keep it as a memento of my inattention.”

From here he made straight home. Dale would be an easy trip but he told Phylless this was a spring and summer effort.


	18. Cold Trails

**_Chapter 18_ **

**_Cold Trails_ **

Nag Kath and Phylless went dancing. All his friends were fine. Things here were the same as always. 

But there was work to do. He really wanted to investigate clues with as few scholars as possible. They could be so indiscreet. By far, most were tutors. They taught students reading and counting skills or history and classics. Some specialized in lore of the Valar. Other folk taught too, but being a tenured red-cap raised your asking price by half again as much. 

Some were researchers. They tried to parse together the scant writings of the peoples and eras for an area of interest. Men arguing over the superiority of the fifteenth century fell into that category. Nag Kath was sure they were absolutely right if it made them feel better. Many of those men, always men, did not pay their own bills.

The third and smallest group of scholars sought specific knowledge to improve their situation. Nag Kath fell firmly in that camp. Men might want to turn groats to Florins or prove an ancestor who led his soldiers into a swamp was not a fool. The Elf wanted to remove remaining fell influences. There were those seeking to restore them. They would look for the same information. That required discretion ... and scholars were indiscreet.

He would start with the coin. It bordered on scholarship but a few men of means in the White City collected coins from around the world. Some currency of lost peoples were more valuable for their rarity than what they could buy. A friend of Ectillion’s had a prized collection. And he could keep his own counsel.

A plump woman with a cook’s smock answered the door and was told, “Good morning. I am here to visit Mr. Eoudenbrad. My name is Nag Kath.”

“Oh dear! You killed all those trolls!” 

Not an anonymous start. “People have made more of it than there was. Mr. Eoudenbrad is expecting me.”

“Very good, sir. Please follow me.”

The main led him to a library not unlike Carstor’s with two good windows higher than street level and oil lamps on the walls nowhere near curtains or other things that could burn. Tellis Eoudenbrad was sitting at his desk looking at something through a large fireglass. Seeing the Elf he rose and walked over to shake hands.

“Hello, Lord Kath. We met once at Ecc and Tal’s. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir. Thank you for receiving me.”

“Tea will be here in a minute. Please, let us sit over there for the ten-bell light.” Situated, the collector said, “Ecc mentioned you had a question about a coin. I must confess; I know little of current values if you are looking to buy or sell something. I have only ever bought them, and not many recently.”

“Ease your mind, sir. I seek history. I am hoping you can help me date and place an old coin that surfaced in my inquiries.” Nag Kath took the coin from his pocket and handed it to Eoudenbrad as his maid brought the troll-slayer his tea. The collector went back to his desk for his fire-glass and returned. As he examined the copper Nag Kath said, “I got it in Rhûn and know many of the Balchoth symbols, but this is not one.”

Eoudenbrad put his glass on the table and said, “Rhûn, eh? Not even close, Mr. Kath. This symbol is Adûnaic, the Black Numenoreans.” When the Elf was dumbstruck, the collector grinned and added, “The other end of the world.”

“Forgive me, sir. I flatter myself that I am a traveler but do not know of these people.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself. When Numenor was drowned, surviving worshipers of the Valar and worshipers of Sauron fought each other from the north to the south. This could have been struck in Numenor – more likely in one of their capitals as they migrated this way. The northern men were pushed into Umbar where they were said to have a colony as the Faithful formed Gondor.” The fellow chuckled, “Some say even below the Harad desert.”

Nag Kath’s head was spinning. Trying not to look too foolish, always a desperate notion, he asked, “They are men of the deep desert?”

“You could not prove it by me, but it makes sense that the sand must end somewhere, there are ancient rumors that the lands become fertile again.”

Nag Kath contributed, “That would have saved the Numenoreans from legend. Would scholars know more of those lands, sir?”

Eoudenbrad seemed to have some of the same misgivings as Nag Kath about scholars. “Hummph. You want to know about faraway places, ask a sailor, or someone with well-worn boots.” The collector looked at the back of the coin. “What did you make of these?”

“Sorry?”

“The markings on the back.”

"I just thought them wear and tear."

“Notice here around the rim, and a few scattered inside. They look like dents but are punch marks. They were not struck with the coin. Here, have a look.”

This was a very fine fire-glass. Nag Kath relied on his Elf-eyes but they helped more for distance than close-up. After deciding he would buy a better glass for himself, he handed it back saying, “I cannot tell a meaning from them.”

“Me either, but I would wager a King Tar-Súrion nipper they mean something.”

**___________-------___________**

“Lord Kath, the King will see you now.”

“Ah, Nag Kath, welcome back. How fares your charge?”

“I took him back to Khand, Sire. The right-living folk have taken him in.”

Not many people would rehabilitate a sworn enemy and hand-deliver him to the other side of the map. Aragorn asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Sir, I need to ask of your travels before the crown. Have you ever heard of the land of the Black Numenoreans?”

The King knew the Elf was on the scent, “Oh yes. An ancient and fell people driven south and south again as the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor formed. The men of Belfalas finally sent them packing below the Anduin to later be overcome by the Haradrim. Would you care to share your interest?”

Nag Kath considered and said softly, “A clue has pointed to them twice.”

Aragorn remembered his trip to Harad well. “I have been south, far enough that the stars are not the same as here. Umbar was said built by them but abandoned to the desert peoples long ago. Gandalf once told me an ancient mariner of the south sailed further south finding great bays and inlets.”

“It probably amounts to nothing, My Lord. Thank you for seeing me. One of these days I’ll visit Radagast again and ask him. He is the last of the three.”

Aragorn said, “Five.” The Elf cocked his head slightly. “Gandalf told me there were five wizards, thought he did not remember the other two.”

Nag Kath wondered, “Perhaps they did not come here with the others. When did Gandalf come?”

“He was very cagey about that, but most recently about two thousand years ago. He is much older, perhaps back and forth before that.”

“Cagy puts it well. Again, Sire, thank you for your help and all my best wishes to your Lady Queen and young son.”

_____________--------_____________

Black Numenoreans! The Kings Men, loyal to Sauron. Whatever they were doing before would have limited prospects now. They may have their troubles, but there were several known areas of lingering dark sorcery in the west. The Dead Marshes seemed no less threatening on his way home. He did not see the dead Elf this time. Did they leave one at a time rather than fading together?

In the meantime, his woman wanted to dance. His friends were always a joy. His interest in painting had increased and he thought he might even try his hand at writing. Nag Kath had quite a story already, and no one ever seemed to get it right in the telling. He told Phylless that he would like to visit her parents this winter so he could check the horse-teeth in Pelargir, perhaps take a quick solo trip downriver. She thought that was lovely and would write them today. Mail service was as fast as the ferries so they would know within the week. Mail was good to Dale too but Nag Kath could have waited forever for the next letter.

Brenen’s daughter Renalda wrote that he was ill. He had never gotten a message in her hand which meant Bren wasn’t up to writing, but they were his words. Almost no one else in the family could read or write. His wind kept getting worse and two weeks into August he had a stroke. He could think and move his left side but could not walk. All else was well, seven grandchildren now and they send their love. He also had her write that Nag Kath should not make a special trip back to Dale for him. He knew the Conaths would visit next spring if he wanted to come then. His love and best. Nag Kath still debated whether he should delay the Pelargir trip and ride up. Brenen told him to stay, perhaps to let him die before they had to cry again. He would take Phylless home but he would be thinking of his son.

A real son! Of the living people he loved, losing Brenen would hurt most. Tal was special. But she had been loved by her first husband, her Elf and her second husband. She was born to be loved. How could one hope to live their life any better? Ardatha entered the world in what could have been terrible circumstances but she had been loved every minute of her life. As she was the best of wives, Eniece was the best of mothers, with caring helpers surrounding her always. Then; a fine husband and her own children, again; a life well lived.

But Bren did not have it so good. His mother, still with us, cared for him and his little sister as well as she could against his drunken father. He had to become a man younger than he should have. A stroke of luck; meeting Nag Kath, but neither of them had childhoods. Brenen Fal started working before he could legally keep his own earnings. The man worked well and built a business and a family that would last through his love.

Yes, Bren would be the hardest. 

They boarded the boat in mid-November, this time taking their horses. The plan was to stay until just before the snow-melt made getting back upriver treacherous. A weather-eye to the mountains would inform.

Phyll’s folks didn’t seem to get much older. They were both spry and active with life-long friends in their little community. The Kaths stayed there about half the time. The Maedegon mansion was large and poor Vergere moved very slowly. He was also forgetting things. The man had outlived any relatives who knew him after lifelong service to the milling family. 

Phyll did not know what to do. He probably had some savings, though he was as honest a servant as one could find. She had cash. In kindness she could grant him a pension but then he would be old and alone in a new place. The only solution was to let him stay and tend the empty house. Phylless did broach cook, every day as ancient as Vergere, with even less to do. The sweet old lady said she would tend the man and was already hiring out jobs that required lifting to a local lad. Since Miss Fennel was with them this time, Phyll's needs were in hand.

After a couple days, Nag Kath sent not to Governor Onathal. Yes, would Lord Kath join him and some staff for tea at the end of the working day tomorrow? Tea? Not likely, but he was the governor. Fondiscar was there. So were Kieff and Captain Ithil of the base Marines. The Elf was right about tea, which competed with stronger, after-hours beverages. Onathal said in his husky voice, “Welcome back, My Lord. We are fortunately in seeing you often.”

“Thank you, sir. My wife is from here and her parents are very much with us.”

Kieff said, “Tell us of your adventures.”

He did. Not much came of the Visitor or Orlo. Nag Kath did explain that a small reason for coming was to ask among the deep-blue captains of lands found journeying south. Colonel Ithil suggested, “There is an old-salt, Dromedaes, who used to ply the southern coast. He looks as Umbar as Herumor but born and raised right here.”

Kieff pulled his beard a bit before adding, “I should introduce you … not the most trusting fellow; Dromedaes. I don’t know that he has what you want but I would ask there first.”

There were no new tidings on the troll pit. It had been completely filled and the rocks dumped along the bank no closer than a hundred paces apart. Even flattened, no one with half a brain was interested in the property. Since it was government land, Nag Kath suggested they make it a park, if only to see if grass would grow.

The strategic conference broke up before the men had to get home for dinner. They would see each other again during Nag Kath’s long visit. On his way out, he asked Kieff, “Velland, this captain, is there any special greeting present he would favor?”

“Far ahead of you, Sir Elf. I have just the thing.”

He did. The next morning, not too early, the two made their way across the Faithful quarter and over to the southwest bank. There they found a small, well-kept house with a tidy garden in front, not what the Elf expected of a retired mariner. Kieff knocked and they immediately heard the growl of a fair-sized dog on the other side of the door.

“All right, all right, what do you want?”

“Hello Captain Dromedaes. It is Velland Kieff come to call with a friend of mine.”

“Is he a friend of mine?”

Kieff was expecting every word of this, “He has done good service for the people of Pelargir.” The Minister did not mention larger Gondor. Haughty folk of the White City had not always been on their side in the days of the Stewards.

“A moment.” They heard shuffling to suggest the dog was being placed in a closed room. The door opened and a grizzled old fellow stared into the sun behind the burly Kieff and a towering, blonde man. “Come in. Sorry, it is the maid’s week off.”

The place wasn’t really that much the worse for his bachelor’s touch – or widower’s touch. Kieff pronounced, “This is Nag Kath” leaving off the Lord. “He is visiting again after helping us before. I suggested you might be able to answer his questions about voyages afar.”

The man could be Orlo’s surly brother, quite bald with a thin beard and the same ruddy complexion. A lifetime on the water will do that. Out of the glare, Dromedaes gave the Elf a second look with what seemed sharp eyes and said, “Well, you had better sit down.” The dog barked at the voices and the Captain told him to shut up. 

Nag Kath took the tallest chair across from the captain with Kieff in-between. No tea was offered or expected. There would be something to drink, though. The Minister produced a small, stoppered flask and said, “I think I remember you liking this.”

Dromedaes pulled the cork and sniffed, finally cracking his first smile. “Barley spirits, northern or I’m a fool.” The sailor got the three cleanest cups from his pantry and set them on the low table. Pouring no more than a half inch in each he raised his and said, “To the men who went before us.” It would have been proper to drink the King’s health first, but good men’s memory would serve. They touched their clay cups and swallowed. Knowing what to expect, Nag Kath had no trouble with his gulp, quite a bit smaller than the one that made his eyes tear in Trum Dreng. 

The mariner said, “Kath, eh? Yes, you did us a service. Half of a troll head shores-up the east corner of the Sirith bend. They split it where your sword stabbed.”

The Elf laughed, “Aye, this one here, but it is not the pretty thing it was.”

The dog growled again and the captain warned him before saying, “Very well, Kieff here can’t hold much of this barley liquor so tell me what you need.”

Nag Kath, as he often did, started speaking slowly to gauge the interest, “This is first cousin to the business across the bridge. I was in the east only this spring looking for more about the men who created the troll wards all those years ago. This may be of no moment but it refers to the lands of Black Numenoreans. Have you ever heard of such a place in your travels?”

Dromedaes poured himself another half inch. After finding its home, he wiped his mouth and said, “I have. Never been there or met anyone who had. There is an old story that a man of Mardruak sailed south along the coast for fully a year, discovering many wondrous places. People were of all colors, past where subjects spoke Harad.”

That called for another cup but he only sipped, “I’ve only been as far as the colony in Gobel Mírlond, relations being what they are, but plenty of Umbars and Haradrim get this far north. Mind, this was a thousand years ago. Tell was, the fellow brought back fabulous riches he traded for cloth and nails, and never sailed again. I’d have said it was bilge wash, but some of those queer things are on mantles today.”

Nag Kath asked, “Could any such fellows be persuaded to share their tales?”

Dromedaes chortled, “They’ll tell you anything you want, for all the good it will do you. There is one man though, Houlmanteg, lives in the Ethir, town of Meehin, or he did. He’s older than me, knows more than most. I know you are tougher than you look, but that’s no place for Dúnedain.”

The Elf put his hands on his knees and said, “I will visit. Would it be fair to say I don’t want to arrive on a Marine vessel?”

The mariner gave that considerable thought after another sip. “Take one of the boats that rows and sails Odar back here. Two, three men, open deck, if it rains, you get wet. Houlmanteg doesn’t drink, but he does spend.”

They said their goodbyes. On the way back Nag Kath wondered, “Maybe one of those gourd boats?”

Kieff answered, “Needs to handle more water turning the point. Ask who delivers fish at the Kraken.”

_____________--------_____________

Nag Kath would give Phylless another two weeks to see all and do all along with a couple blissful picnics in the country. They did have dinner at the Kraken. She wondered if that was his sort of place but the meal was good, good enough that her Elf want back to the kitchen to compliment the staff.

No trip to Pelargir would be complete without visiting the healer Beshugya. He owed her more than almost anyone alive. Her business had thrived after fixing the Elf Troll-Lord. In any place where people did not die young or poor, there would be backs to straighten and necks to turn. She was very proud he had remembered her and enjoyed the gifts he brought.

Wife attended, the Elf sought boatsman Mumphred at the docks. He was told to look for a craft with red trim around the gunwales. There was little paint anywhere on the Christul Dourff. Mumphred thought it an excellent idea to take a discreet passenger to the south mouth for a silver. For another silver, he would wait a couple days and bring him back. The Christul Dourff was a bit bigger than planned with four men who could sail or row. The faster the boat, the fresher the fish. It took them two days with the current and extra distance to turn the corner of the bay. 

Meehin was an Umbar town. Officially part of Gondor now, you couldn’t prove it by the citizens. Streets were still named for famous mariners and leaders who fought the Kings before the Stewards. Nag Kath was dressed plainly and wore one of his brown brim hats. By design, the boat berthed nearing dusk and their passenger hopped into the night.

There were no maps of Meehin, a town of perhaps 500 souls. It was on a small river collecting what water it could stretching from the dry places of the world. What it lacked in water it made-up with a crescent spit of rock protecting the harbor from swells pounding the coast. 

A man was relieving himself in an alley. The tall stranger let him finish before asking in less than his Minas Tirith voice, “I seek Houlmanteg.”

“Don’t know him. What do you want Ghondor?”

“Settling an old debt. There’s a fiver for someone who knows where he lives.”

“Oh, Houlmanteg! Don’t suppose you have the coin in hand?”

Nag Kath walked over and opened his palm. Sure enough, a five-groat copper was coin of the realm, or any other realm. The Elf handed it to him on good faith.

“You are nearly there. Take that street right and then four houses down, mind the dog.” The Elf thanked him with a gift of yellow confusion to forget this little transaction. He could wonder where the fiver came from when he got home.

The dog was chosen for barking rather than biting. The peep door slid open and a woman grumbled, “Who is it?”

“I was told Mr. Houlmanteg could help me.”

“That still doesn’t answer who you are.”

“Name’s Solvanth.”

The slat shut for a minute and then reopened, “Never heard of you.”

This could go on forever so Nag Kath quickly dropped a silver in the slot. The woman slammed the peep door against the hand reaching in but the coin spinning on the wooden floor changed attitudes. A minute later, a short Southron opened the door and said, “Come in.”

The Elf did and peered around the dimly lit main room. The man looked at least sixty and the woman was about forty. He would know their relationship if they volunteered. Houlmanteg said, “Sit over there. We were having second supper. You just bought yourself a share.”

Nag Kath smelled fish so he said, “Thank you. I missed the first.”

At the table was an attractive young woman of about twenty. The dog had stopped barking, which surprised his hosts. It just sniffed the Elf’s trousers. Houlmanteg asked, “Solvang?”

“Solvanth.” 

“Tell me, Mr. Solvanth, what here’s worth a dented king?”

Trying to sound like a scholar, Nag Kath replied, “I study lands south and east. Captain Dromedaes said you would tell me what you knew without, em, pulling the long-bow.”

The peep-door woman snorted, “You mean not over wine!”

Just then, a baby started fussing in a back room and the lass went back to comfort it. The dog stayed by his leg. He answered, “Something like that.”

His host said motionlessly, “You have my attention.”

As the mother came back Nag Kath said, “This may take a while.” Then he pulled another silver from his jacket and slid it across the table. In the parlance of information, an offer of two meant one was for the goods and the other for silence. “As the lady said, this is not for ale-house stories. I want exactly as you know and if you do not know, I don’t mind you saying so.” He looked around the table and the female eyes were glued to the second coin.

“Do you know of the lands of Black Numenoreans?”

“Heard of them, don’t know of them. Old before the ancients.”

“Have Umbari ever sailed there?”

Houlmanteg pocketed the next silver and said, “They have gone well down the coast but never found other than Haradrim. Legend said there is a huge bay, the size of Lebennin, but it does not go through to the Undying Lands. Further south, the land turns to ice, as is said of the north.”

“Then how do stories come of this land?”

“They don’t. This was said to be before Harad took Umbar. Maybe they are still down there.”

Nag Kath shared a little, “That is curious to me. A man from the north said the same.” The Elf ruminated to himself, “Southwest of Khand then.”

That brought the mariner up sharp. He figured the Dúnedain for a city dandy, Dol Amroth, with that pretty hair. He would learn a few things himself from the generous guest, “Khand, you say? Can’t say I’ve been there either. Long way, Khand.”

This wasn’t particularly secret. Nag Kath said, “I’ve been there twice. But not very far down, no further south than Mordor.”

The young woman, very forward for these people gasped, “Are you of Numenor?”

Nag Kath smiled, “Not that I know of, ma’am” thinking it was her babe in the back.

She said fiercely, “Are you the prophet the women whisper of – said to raise our people and take our lands back?!”

Her da, or grand-da, had entirely enough of that. “Silence girl! Knew you to keep your mouth shut we wouldn’t have your fatherless baggage squalling all night.”

She looked pole-axed, unused to his harsh words. Those were not the kind of coins usually crossing this table either. He was just defending his livelihood. It might not even betray their sympathies. The stranger had not said how he fell on the debate. Khand? Even with Mordor?! 

Houlmanteg thought to cover the lapse with blandness, “Are you a scholarly person who writes for the archives?”

“At times. It is said a great warrior came from those lands when the last age was new. We know little of him. It was my father’s passion.” Not a complete lie; Saruman would certainly have been interested in these people. He arrived long after they were exiled from the north, said to join an outpost already in the Umbar stronghold. Saruman was no more his father than Turnlie was his dinner’s mother, but that was as close as he could get.

The young woman had still not replaced the blood in her face. The middle-aged woman did not look like a scold, perhaps a servant or relative taken-in. Nag Kath shifted the conversation to the wastes of Haradwaithe. The story he heard was that the rage of the Valar had condemned that land to sand. His host explained that people lived in small enclaves and knew how to survive but did little better. Southron armies came from more fertile ground beneath the southern Ephel range where the dark lord could reach them. The massive oliphaunts were on the southern horn of the Umbar gulf. Without Sauron to keep them together, the two Haradric peoples did not care for each other. Coastal Umbars were yet another strain.

The Elf had as much as he would get. He did not show them the coin or any of the ancient symbols. They were not the enemy. They were not friends. It was time to go.

Boatman Mumphred thought he had a few days at leisure and was visiting an establishment known for soothing the cares of mariners missing their loving wives. The crew was sleeping in their bedrolls. He rolled his out and joined them. It still took two days to buy enough fish to make the trip worthwhile. Odar and other fishes were dragged in fine nets behind the craft to keep them alive.

_____________--------_____________

“Darling, I would never criticize, but you smell like a fish boat.”

“This town seems to bring out the worst in me. I shall not kiss you hello until I am worthy.”

Neighborhood man Inveg stayed close when they were at home and hauled buckets of Sirith water to a large trough in the back yard. As he did not need it warmed or upstairs, this was faster. Vergere brought tea.

Laying on his chest that night, Phyll asked, “What news?”

“I have gotten about as far as I will on the mysterious sorcerer. Some think he’s me.” He chuckled, “They will want their money back.” More quietly, “All of the clues get thinner, further away. Orlo may need to find me again.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No news is good news. Fell things seem to be behaving. That is the hope. There is not much appetite for conflict either. Everyone is trying to make money these days. If I knew in my blood the darkness was rising, I still couldn’t raise a company of volunteers.”

Phylless knew this was a sea-change. She probed gently, “Then what shall we do, you and me?”

“We will travel at leisure, see great things. We will do what we like and hold each other in our arms. I want to go to Dale next year, whether Reyald and Ardatha go or not. I think they will. They are very close to his brother and their older daughter. I need to see all my family.”

She reached for him. This conversation would end soon, “Hmmm, then what?”

“I think we should live in Dol Amroth for a while.”

It did not stop her hand but she did speak murmur, “All right, but you must be very nice to me.”

Rains and melt would be early this year so they packed and went upstream at the end of February. Meanwhile, Nag Kath was still a figure in Pelargir. Folk would look and whisper wherever they went. Songs were sung in taverns. Babies were named Nag. That would fade in a few years. There is always something new. In Minas Tirith no one bothered. That was the city of King and Uncle Nag was merely an honorary Lord of no distinguished regiment. His activities in the east were not widely known or believed. People say the silliest things when drinking.

Shurran found himself another girl. Penlistra Fortizar, mercifully shortened to Penni, was twenty three, the second daughter of Urthn, onetime director of the collier’s collective. Phyll thought her far too good looking to have been thrown-over for a frumpy Magister’s daughter by her long-term suitor, but Urthn Fortizar was not offering a dowry. In the mercantile world, his first lass had been bartered-off dearly and he wanted his sons to retain the family shares.

Shurran did not need any more money. He made a good salary designing buildings and still had some of the cash Uncle Nag slipped him in Dale so he wouldn’t look like a vagabond. He did take a nice Kathen apartment on the third near his office and kept his horse at his parents’ stable. 

Other than them being cheap, Shur got along well with Penni’s folks. Diluted royalty with means; Shur was secretly better than they hoped. Penni was a bright-eyed thing of about average height with long, dark brown hair that she braided in Rohan-style. Her reading was only fair, at best, but like every merchant’s daughter, she could add and subtract numbers in her head. With a catch so near to hand, the Fortizars did not chaperone their youngest very closely. Tonight was dinner at Uncle Nag’s. 

“As I understand it, your father is in the coal business?”

“Yes, Lord Kath. He arranges the barges from the river and then wagons from the Rammas Gate.”

Phylless said, “My parents were in the brewing business. Do you work with your folks?”

“Nay, Lady Kath. My brothers see to things. Father says women have no business in business.”

That earned da Fortizar no grace with Lady Kath, but she smiled and asked what the dear girl did with her time.

“I cook and care for the household. Mother’s health is not strong.”

If marriage-bells ring, old Fortizar would have to spring for a housekeeper! Nag Kath knew there must be some way to salvage the conversation without sounding like an actual grandfather, “Tell me, Penni, how did you meet this charming rascal?”

Her face brightened with a very nice smile, “We were introduced at a gathering by one of Shur’s mother’s friends.”

Phylless exclaimed, “Imagine that!”

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. The youngsters left early ahead of a sleet-storm. Phylless sat next to her Elf on the couch and said, “Lovely lass. I hope it takes.”

Nag Kath leaned his head back on the rest then craned it over to his wife. “Yes, after his disappointment I told him to seek what he wanted, not what he was supposed to want. People make these things too hard on their children.”

“What did you say?”

“Find a girl who is true and loves you. Do not worry about cash or title or moving up in the world. Some folk have to, but Shur doesn’t.”

Phylless cooed and ran her fingers through his hair, “Is that what you found in me?”

“Nay, I married you for your lusts.”

Phyll put her hand to her mouth in pretended shock, “Oh you terrible man. I thought it was my cooking. I suspect our Penni has passions. Do you suppose Shurran knows about such things?”

That got her an attempt not to grin.

“No you don’t! Tell me or I will strangle you in your sleep.”

“I don’t sleep.”

“Out with it, orc!”

He told her about the Khandian girls in Dale. She was to take that to the grave. Ardatha probably figured it out but Reyald, well, she probably told him. Boys will be boys. Without mentioning Chûran by name, he also told her of the pleasure training selected women were given. 

“Have you ever done that with me?”

“Some.”

Some was not enough.

_____________--------_____________

Before they knew it, spring was upon them. It was time to see Dale again. Reyald and Ardatha had not seen his brother or their daughter in three years. Granna Borenne was still hale and wrote every week. No trip north was complete without seeing the Carstors and then they would turn right on the Dwarf Road to the Buhr. 

Nag Kath and Phylless would go too. She was a better long-range rider now and not too spoiled to cook fish in his old skillet. Shurran was going to stay in Minas Tirith. He wanted to see his sister and great grandmother but he had matters to attend in his new home. 

Where there were no inns, the company usually camped with merchants but they rode too fast to travel with them. Staying outside the wagon ruts was safer for the horses too. Dornlas and Annlie were the same as always. The King and Queen were at their country estate where they spent more and more time, Elfwine and Tilli too, so no trips to the Meduseld.

Granna Borenne moved very slowly, but faster than her maid. She must have a healthy dose of Dúnedain, spirit of Queen Nephtat! They were with her two days, borrowed Carstor’s carriage to take her to meet Carstors for four days and went their separate ways with plans to meet in Dale in two months, or send word if otherwise.

Nag Kath and Phylless rode to Dale and took the key from under the potted pegrum. At the two-bell, they rode up to Brenen’s house. The maid answered and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Kath.”

Letters through the winter said Bren was holding his own, but that ended two weeks ago. The message would have passed them on the way. She showed them to the main room and told Nedille. Ever the picture of poise, Bren’s widow told them he slipped away gently with the children at his bed. Nag Kath had thought his goodbyes when news of the stroke came. He still choked-up. That was for Bren but here was grieving Nedille. They were inseparable all those years. She said Aleurn was probably not far behind, poor thing. Brenen had dictated a letter to his da. His widow fetched it and put it in his hands but he could not open it yet, not now.

Nedille was glad to see them but clearly busy with other things. If she would give them two days to get a cook, she and the family must come down for dinner. A compromise was made for dinner here in two days and they rode back to the house. It was warm enough outside to not need a fire and they ate at the Bear and Rose as soon as it opened.

Phylless watched his face closely. It seldom gave anything away but she had learned the hints by now. “Sorry Nag. Will you be fine?”

He returned to the world and said, “Yes, but sometimes I wonder that I must do this to everyone I love. Men must too, but at some point, it is they who are grieved and others go on. It is the choice of that or not to love. That would be many times worse.” He added something she had never heard before. Her Elf was very quiet about his long-term future, it being so much longer than the people he knew now. “That would also be the point I knew I had lost my way. The dark ones stopped loving, if they had ever loved at all. With love; there is giving and taking. I must never stop giving.”

The next morning he went by the office. Old Mrs. Whendam was in. Bart was attending an auction near the wharves with Brenen’s oldest Turenon. She said after having his father so long a-dying, he was ready. There were no bad memories. How many could say that? 

Bart was back before the tea was cold and gave Uncle Nag a Northman hug. He stopped just long enough to tell Mrs. Whendam, “Missed it. Jennald must have wanted that place badly. I do not know how he will make his money back.” He got tea from the kettle and stirred in a bit of honey. “Hello Phyll. Nag, are you just in?”

“Yesterday, a little late, I’m afraid.”

The Secretary, who had been there longer than Bart, snorted, “Bren wouldn’t have that. He would have told of troll gold or how you turned him green at the healer’s.”

Uncle Nag smiled, “Let us not forget the flower lady’s scowling daughter! So Bart, what news.”

“We have a child on the way!”

The Elf raised his eyebrow.

“No one told you? Graciel and I married last fall.”

He had quite forgotten. So that worked. Tal, your matchmaking empire was not exclusive. “That’s grand, no, no one said, but that was when correspondence took a turn. Phyll and I will be here for a couple months while Reyald and Ardatha are in Austar. We have plenty of time to relive the old stories.”

Bart grinned, “And add a few new ones.”

_____________--------_____________

Everyone else was the same. Burry was still not a man to insult, armed or not. Some men are tough until the day they die. Lola was his steady companion. All their children were independent and frequently home for dinner. Lotold Brighten’s wife had been poorly. She should be a young sprig at seventy but heart problems ran in her family. Hearts were something healing could do nothing for. The rest of them were fine. Rules for ale were suspended in honor of the hero of the Celduin. Nag Kath never had any idea what they did for support. It was considered ill-mannered to ask and they had never mentioned it. Like a lot of Hobbits, it was possible they came into an inheritance since they were such frugal savers and did not have large families. 

Before dinner Nag Kath dashed off letters to both Rosscranith and the King as a courtesy to let them know he was here. Rosscranith answered back the next day by messenger suggesting a glass of Dorwinion two day’s hence, regrets only. Nag Kath took Phylless. She was his love and this shouldn’t be all that skull-duggerous. 

“It is good to see you, my friends. How long has it been?”

“Two, three years. Not long by my usual neglect.”

“You will not find it much changed. It is a pleasure to see you again Lady Kath.”

She smiled, “Phylless.”

“Yes, much better that way. Everyone is a lord these days. Nag, I retired at the turn of the year. I’d been training-up new men and it was time for one of them.”

“You lasted quite a while when the broom swept clean.”

“I was the broom, but the King is wise beyond his years and now his years are prime. There’s another babe on the way.”

Nag Kath smiled, “Carstors is that much more relieved. I saw him a week ago. The man has made an art of living.”

“But for your pictures and manly advice, he might wear the crown today.”

Another story Phylless hadn’t heard. Rosscranith was required to tell it badly, but humorously, with the Elf filling the gaps, “I think the discarded portrait of him is in my folder. I’ll look.”

It was good to catch-up. Nag Kath always thought Rosscranith the very best of men, a man for his time who met the challenge. His nation had been stable, prosperous and free since he took a leading role in its governance. Of course, the story of Pelargir took two glasses of wine to explain with Phylless’ help. She was a woman for her time too.

After two weeks of obligatory, but enjoyable, meals and drinks, Nag Kath and Phylless took their leisure. He was sorry that she could not see Erebor, even the parts men were allowed. Rosscranith said relations with the King Under the Mountain had not improved and the Prince was seldom seen. The orcs never missed their fish wagons. It was always the same orc whose Westron had gotten fairly good. He reported last year one of the Gundabad orc hosts trespassed in their lands but there were no dark sorceries. Men of the northern stations kept the tradition of cooking a pig that day to share with the messenger and soldier-orcs hanging back in the shadows. They would not eat with them. Diplomacy has its limits. Golord was happy to see him. 

The Elven Halls were probably not for her eyes as well. He could drop Legolas’ name now but that might not pull much weight with the Silvans. Besides; Legolas had not yet warmed to the changeling water-cleanser. Another couple hundred years and they would be tight as Dwarf cousins! To fill the time, they took picnics where her Elf knew they would be alone. Now well into her forties, her desires still burned. Khandian girls indeed!

Nag Kath never did hear back from King Bain, though it was common knowledge he was in the city. The man did not hold as many public viewings and ceremonies as his father. The Elf forgot, for the first time, to ask after the dowager. He would leave it to Miss Quessan to find him.

Belatedly, they had lunch with Bart and Grace. She was due in a few months and moving slowly. Lamb was on the menu. It was good to see people he loved in love. Almost any mortal man would have recoiled at the thought of a lover in the arms of a friend, arguably a relative. That was too much pride laid bare. Not the Elf. He thought Grace was a born mother and Bart a perfect father. To ice the cake, Bard returned with Ros from the country home and the two pulled up chairs at the table. Nag Kath thought life could not be better than this.

Before they knew it, the Conaths arrived on schedule and it was time to make for the lake. Torrold and Gerda were fine. Reyald mildly scolded his brother for not visiting the White City now that he was such a grand Thain. Torrold admitted it was his turn. Their grandchildren were getting so tall!

_____________--------_____________

They reached home in early July, just in time for the Feast. Two years ago, Nag Kath was minding sorcerous Visitors. This time they gathered at the tavern with Tim, Marie, Marletta and her now husband. As he would do whenever he could for the rest of his life, Nag Kath lit a candle for the three days of Gelansor.

Shurran had an announcement. He and Penni were to wed. It was not on the scale of royal unions but this was a fairly large undertaking on the light calendar of Fourth Age 45. She was not with child. Nag Kath secretly checked when shaking her hand in congratulations. Phyll thought that beneath him.

Tal was the Queen of Love. She could never quite match Nag Kath’s production of a King, but that was unintentional. He got credit for the baby due any day in Dale too. Here and now, Penni was a beautiful bride. Her folks even paid for a fine gown. They did not need to rent the hall since Kathen Properties owned it and Ardatha chose the planner because the best was certainly more than collier Fortizar’s budget. As always, the Elf and his woman ducked out a side door while the party was in full-swing.


	19. Home on the Sea

**_Chapter 19_ **

**_Home on the Sea_ **

The Anduin flooded in the spring of 46. The pox hurt both Osgiliath and Pelargir. It came to the White City with people fleeing their own disease. Nag Kath spent a lot of time healing, pulling fevers just enough to set folk on their way to recover so he could help as many as possible before collapsing. Hundreds still died. Before the water, most of them might have died. More citizens than would ever know owed their lives to the Dunlending covered with pigeon droppings in the secondary statue garden. 

Phyll was ill too. Her man held her closely every day for a week, always saving something for her alone, riding hard before Tilion guided his moon across the sky to meet the Evenstar. Charlo was still strong but Nag Kath alternated with Maida to keep them fresh. Phylless had spoon-fed him in his time of weakness. He gave her part of his life in hers. 

That summer they went to Pelargir with a lot more crates. Both horses came with their tack. They had clothes, weapons, art supplies, Miss Fennel, money, Lembas and more than a few books. As always, they spent time with Phyll’s parents. They were lovely folk. Nag Kath could see where Phyll got her wry sense of humor.

After two weeks they boarded the deep-water Bolru Kantrë to Dol Amroth. To start, the couple booked long-term rooms at the Great Sail inn. The plan was to discover the city and then lease or buy a home. What he wanted most was to not take a long trip every year. He had been doing that for fifteen years. Elves might not think that onerous but he lived like a man and it had left him dulled. There were many of the things you could get in Minas Tirith here. Pelargir too, but he liked the sea better than the river.

Dol Amroth was the capital of Belfalas but by location, had almost nothing to do with the rest of the fief. Interior residents were not always happy about that. Unlike most important coastal cities, the river forming the harbor had little commercial value except for wood from the Ringlo to build or repair ships. The Anduin, through more southerly Lebennin, controlled goods coming and going to Gondor proper. Trading ships up the coast were becoming more important. The mainland population was closer to peoples of central Gondor than the thinning Dúnedain bloods of the Princely capital. Civilization stopped at the Ringlo. The peninsulas of Anfalas and Andrast above were largely unpopulated. 

Nag Kath intended to explore all of it but first he had to learn more about the city and make sure his Phylless was fine. She was used to sea travel now, a good thing because it was a long, bumpy horse-ride back to Minas Tirith. After unpacking, their first call was to Caladrion and Eniecia’s home above the war harbor, the first of three coves coming into the inlet reserved for ships of the Navy, often with Marines onboard. It was a small, pleasant place and close to Cal’s posting. By a turn of fate, they arrived just after his ship put-in for three weeks of plank repair. Water, worms and barnacles only gave wood below the waterline about six or seven years of reliability. There were protected sand/mud flats further upriver where ships were careened at moon-tides. 

Field was three and Callistra was nearing two. After an unremembered introduction to Uncle Nag and Aunt Phyll, they practiced joint maneuvers on a large orange cat that decided the middle shelf of the bookcase was the perfect place to watch. A governess minded them while the adults enjoyed a nice breeze on the porch.

Marriage suited them both. Like all Marine and sailors’ wives, Eniecia worried when he was away. There were many women in the same situation and they relied on each other. Eniecia had quite a few friends among them and elsewhere too. These days; casualties were largely due to accidents and weather. Not so long ago, many ships were lost in battle. The forces of the fief were ostensibly for self-defense but Cal explained they had primary responsibility for the mouth of the Anduin and points south. Umbar pirates blended into the mud flats and reappeared in force on short notice. Pelargir maintained a presence too but mainly provisioned line ships on patrol.

It was a long meal and they didn’t talk about much at all. Phyll got the sense that with the brave warrior just back from the deep, the couple had things to discuss privately. There would be plenty of time. Cal did have a few suggestions about where to look for a home but his mother’s friends were the experts. 

Cal’s da, Legorn Ivandred, was nearing retirement and now more often in port than “on the blue”. The Kath’s spent a lot of time with them. Lady Durnalath enjoyed the Dalean company from both her beloved daughter-in-law and the woman’s notorious grand-da. Legorn explained their two starting points for a home were near the water or working up the central plateau from Old Town. The plateau itself was the Prince’s domain with gardens and pastures for the family’s sustenance. Most of the food for everyone else was carted in from farms on the mainland immediately east of the city gates. Three quarters of the peninsula coast was steep rock cliffs descending into the sea. That made Dol Amroth expensive to provision but it could only be attacked from the harbor. Town militias trained to discourage that with ballista batteries on the points.

Nag Kath and Phylless both wanted to be nearer the water. They were city dwellers at heart and the flats along the harbors were where culture and art and places to eat were almost piled on top of one another. He had worn some shoe-leather in a few parts stalking the witches. Together they would canvas many more. Stabling was hard to come by.

None of that was a problem. They stayed in on rainy days. They walked everywhere. This was the high season for singing and the glorious harpists of renown. There were plays and dance. Just south of the creek splitting the Commercial Harbor from the Working Harbor was the large amphitheater where he saw the Catanard which also served other entertainments needing scale. Traveling troupes came and went. 

One of the reasons the couple was taking their time was that the city was famously elite. Strangers were not welcomed with open arms. Nag Kath had some entree as a Lord of Galador, but he was also a former orc, mostly Elf and not an elbow fighter in high society. Worse; he didn’t care, sure to infuriate anyone hoping to take tactical advantage. Phylless was a tradesman’s daughter. 

They got insights into their station when calling cards sent to the Prince and Lord Ercherion were answered by an invitation to a long-schedule ball in the main palace. One did not simply walk up to the gates. There was a tightly controlled gauntlet up the southern highlands and then through walled baileys. The lay of the land and the princely fortifications were designed more for siege since once someone had a foothold in the harbors, they controlled the city. There were ways to get to the palace from the water, but not for women in party shoes. The solution was for people to walk through the gate exposed to a quarter mile of weather or a string of carriages on occasions like this. The gala was on a pretty night so Nag Kath and Phylless hiked with a group of about fifty other guests and were passed by at least that many in carriages, probably every coach in the city.

The occasion was a celebration of a previous Prince. Neither of them knew how far back. For the first five minutes they did not see anyone they knew. From behind, Lady Yeniel walked over to say hello. They had only seen her during or right after the sorcery so there was no store of happy memories. Her color was back and she offered her hands for his kiss and Phylless’ touch. No man hovered nearby. Yeniel took them to her father near one of the large north-facing windows. After accepting their bows, he gave Nag Kath a hearty handshake and kissed Phyll’s hand. Subtle eye movements confirmed that all health was restored before the Lord introduced them to a few of the city lights.

First were Lord and Lady Conustal. In Minas Tirith, and certainly Dale, lords and ladies usually dropped the titles unless one was royalty or there was a wide gap in age. Dol Amroth lost those more slowly. When half the room was lordly, what was the difference? They played by the rules and said they looked forward to their stay.

Another couple approached and was welcomed as Devoran and Whilmina Teluvies. There was history with both first names that could wait. They did not seem to be lords of any stripe so when the Conustals drifted off with Erchirion, the four chatted. At any party, one can talk about weather, what a lovely event and the turnout. If you know, you can include; weddings, ship arrivals and Gondor. Devoran, also called Dev, launched straight into the troll-slaying in Pelargir. His family bought rope from people Phyll knew slightly and a cousin was in the Third Marines tracking the beasts around the Quarter of the Faithful.

Nag Kath was proud of that whole business but did not lord it either. Whilmina, a plain but very gracious woman, was a bit overawed so Phyll mentioned someone they probably both knew before the conversation returned to the battle. The Elf kept troll-slaying alive because he wanted a sense of how that, and certain other adventures, would affect their plans. The intention was to stay a few years, but they would leave tomorrow if this was not what they wanted. To feel the pulse, Nag Kath turned to the relaxed Whilmina and said, “I do hope you have no fell creatures here, dear woman. We have had quite enough.”

“Oh no, Mr. Kath. But a deputation of the Drúedain came on the anniversary of the great battle last year. They had been sent gifts and brought their own. Lord Alphros went up the coast to receive them and honor the day.”

Nag Kath had heard of the reclusive Dwarf/men, “I know their service was honored. Do they come here often?”

Dev handled that one, “Never. Even then they stayed to the upper peninsula. They have the King’s grant of isolation, unless one applies for leave.” He said more humorously, “I do not believe the application list is very long. There it is said they conjure queer magiks and keep to the forest.”

Magiks, eh? Nag Kath would ask about that. His exploits in different parts of Middle-earth did not follow him very far, though many knew of the water, both waters.

Nag Kath and Phylless thought they should pay their respects to the Prince who was outside. Most of the party was outside. That was the nature of events here when weather allowed. His Lordship was surrounded by people so they approached and bowed, waiting to be acknowledged. 

The Elf was hard to miss, even in a crowd of relatively tall folk. His hair was long and covered his ears. Elphir smiled and said, “Glad you could come.”

They came to his group and Nag Kath said, “Thank you for your gracious invitation, My Lord. May I introduce my wife Phylless?”

“How do you do, dear Lady”

She replied, “Having a lovely time, Prince Elphir.”

He nodded and said, “Good, good. Let us set aside some time for tea soon. I should like to hear your views on recent events.”

Honored, they were about to let him get back to his conversation when he added, “Lord and Lady Kath, please meet Lord and Lady Vendrithorn.”

They were a tall, elegant pair of about forty in mannish years but could be considerably older with the blood of Numenor. The Lords both bowed and ladies curtseyed. Vendrithorn said, “Are you enjoying your time, Lord Kath?”

“Indeed, sir. Everyone has been very gracious. We hope to stay a while and visit family.”

She asked, “Have you been here before?”

Phylless answered, “My second trip, his third.”

Lord Vendrithorn smiled and finished, “We hope you can see everything before you leave.”

A dismissal? Most new people here would return to wherever they called home. They had not shared their plans. Neither of the Kaths made anything of it and wished them a pleasant evening. That lag in the festivities was soon refreshed seeing Legorn and Durnalath Ivandred. They were excellent company and in-laws; a rare combination. Legorn took them over to fill their wine goblets and made a few more introductions to folk who seemed interested. The senior Ivandreds both asked if they had winnowed the field looking for homes. 

Later that night Phyll mused, “… before we leave?”

“Junior Elves, really. This is a closed society. That is easier to do in a time of great warriors. But with merchants and sailors and orcs up in the world, it is hard to stay pure. I shouldn’t worry. We need nothing they have.”

The next day was overcast and dreary. Phyll sat by the window reading a book. After reading to him she found she liked it. Her hand was still basic without the artistic flair taught to fifth-level lasses. He used the break to make a few calls. The first was to the Narvous Untorish at the thread shop. They were both there hoping rain wouldn’t keep ladies or their maids from shopping. He was recognized immediately. “Well hullo, Mr. Kath. Welcome back to our little port.”

“Thank you. I hope you are both well. I wanted to see if you received your papers.”

“Indeed we did, sir, by special messenger.”

“They were a help to me, and many of the people who carry that torch. I saw you covered the old glyph.”

She said, “Very next day. Now if Narvous would just paint the rest of the eaves …”

He scratched the back of his head and said vaguely, “Yes, I need to get to that.”

Nag Kath made a note to hire a painter for them. The shopkeeper did not look like he should be more than two steps up a ladder. They shared a cup of cool tea and spoke of how those symbols had turned-up in the least likely places.

“Now you know, Mr. Kath. I saw something like that other one what was it …” he looked at his wife who shook her head, “… maybe a year ago.”

The Elf scribbled Fûl on a scrap and turned it for them to see. Untorish said, “Like that. I have a hard time telling them apart.”

Nag Kath did not alter his good humor a bit and commiserated, “I have the same trouble. They are not letters so one can’t make a word out of them. I don’t suppose you recall where it was?”

He looked at his wife again with the same shake and said, “Might have been on a ship, not here, maybe in the working harbor. Our main business is canvas line for riggers. Might have seen it there.”

The Elf smiled, “Probably nothing. As you said, they look alike.”

_____________--------_____________

On his way to Mrs. Hürna’s he thought there might be someone in the guardi who should make a habit of wandering by ships in port. Those lads might be buying supplies for a fight back at the river mouth. 

“Well! You said you’d be back.” She turned her head, “Gulleth, some hot tea for a gray day!”

Mrs. Hürna put him in her tallest chair and took a sip without waiting for his to arrive. “Back long?”

“Couple weeks. We’ll stay a while this time. Not that I plan to horn-in on your business.”

“Ha! You can have it. Every now and again I get an offer I can’t turn down but you can have the rest.”

Before we came there was a nasty pox upriver. I pulled a lot of those. Phylless had it too.”

Tsitsa put her tea down and asked, “Poor dear, she’s all right?”

“Reading at the inn, thank you. Starts in the stomach and moves to the lungs gone bad. It is different every year.”

The old lady cackled. Witches always cackle. “Don’t I know it? That’s why Lady Hürna is retired. You do this long enough; you take one that won’t leave.” His tea arrived and they both sipped before she continued, “Staying a while? Where you going to be?”

“We’re taking our time on that. I think near the water, although it is nice up here too.”

“Wouldn’t you know, this was the house of the rogue with the two witches. Seems he met with an accident and it was available to the newly coined Lady of the Fief. Convenient; wouldn’t you say?”

“Nice of him to consider your view. You know this place now. You know me. Where should I look?”

Hürna finished her mug and gave that a few moment’s thought before recommending, “For someone your age and energy, I would look in the New Port, but back up enough to miss all the yelling along the quay. That or the Middle Port. Let your lovely wife decide.”

“We are of the same mind. You would think me slack if I didn’t ask if anyone else is encroaching on your patients?”

She waved her maid for another mug and confided, “Not for sure, but when I told a couple people I was retired, they didn’t beg, and they were sickly enough that they would have without an alternative. You’ll find lots of herb healers in Old Town. You found me. You’ll find them.”

He said, “I had good luck with the eastern muscle healers. That really works.”

“Got some of them too. The strumpet’s guild complained until they had a look!” That got a cackle. “It is all the same body, just different paths. I’m glad you told me. Now if you can just get rid of the alchemists.”

_____________--------_____________

The next day cleared and the couple strolled the Middle Port. Homes were pretty up three and four rows from the quay but there wasn’t much to do so they crossed one of many bridges from the streams gurgling down the plateau and made east for the New Port. He realized in looking that he really didn’t want full immersion in the daily frenzy of the city. Given his lifestyle, they should be able to pick and choose where to dip their toes.

Ground was fairly flat for a hundred paces from the waterside but then it climbed steeply and leveled again before a gradual grade towards Old Town. The space between was rocky and undeveloped but it gave the homes behind it a nice buffer and a view of the commercial harbor. They both liked the area. Homes came in all sizes. Legorn recommended an estate agent at the Prince’s gala so they thought tomorrow they would inquire.

Unusually, the agent was a woman. With a name like Furris Dalcomb who would know? A secretary showed them into her tiny office and brought tea while they waited for the agent to get back from a client’s. Mrs. Dalcomb was about Phyll’s age and had a businesslike handshake. 

“How can I help you, Lord and Lady Kath?” She addressed the woman of the house. Most people would direct the conversation to the man. Since she asked, Phylless replied, “We are considering leasing or even buying here and wondered about the area just above New Port.”

Mrs. Dalcomb looked into both their eyes and asked, “Have you been looking long?”

The Elf answered, “A few weeks, and we have been here before. Friends suggested a few places we might visit.”

Agent Dalcomb had to determine three things, as she would with any client: their budget, how much did they know about property and what did they know about Dol Amroth? They had already covered enough of the third.”  
  


Asking about the second would probably answer the first. The woman floated, “Buying or leasing; two different animals.”

Phylless took that, “There is so much yet to learn. If a home is perfect, we think to purchase. If it is elusive, we can wait.” Phyll knew that didn’t answer Dalcomb’s most important question so she added, “Our other homes are in places we know better.”

That got Lord and Lady Kath the full-service smile, “One of my colleagues has a property in that area that might serve. First, please tell me your requirements.”

That was easy. They liked space, windows, a small outdoor area and near to water. They had almost no furniture with them and would attend to that based on the house. That put paid to the money question too. Being a lord said little. One of her distant uncles was a lord of some sort and lived above his daughter’s candle shop. 

After the elegant couple took their leave, Mrs. Dalcomb wasted no time walking over to Mr. Kennaldir’s larger estate office and asking about the old woman’s place above the rocks. It had been available for a while and like most places where someone got too old, it needed a few things. The couple had not mentioned time but their question of leasing suggested they weren’t pressed. They said nothing about needing to sink Florins into making it presentable.

The arrangement with estate agents here, and most places, is that the person who found the buyer and the one who found the seller would split the fee. They had done several transactions together, not without tension, but they got paid. Mr. Kennaldir handed her the key and asked to be kept informed.

The next morning after breakfast Nag Kath and Phyll walked from their inn to Mrs. Dalcomb’s, only fifteen minutes away. She told her secretary to hold the fort and took them to the home, which she had only seen from the outside.

The out-of-town couple stood in front of it for several minutes without saying anything. As any merchant knows, that means something but says nothing. Her gentleman customer walked back the way they had come for a look at one side of the home and then went a bit further for the other. The large house sat on a much larger lot than the homes nearby. Back with his wife, he spent quite a while looking at the roof. She nodded slightly to him and had Mrs. Dalcomb open the door.

Oh dear! Kennaldir had some explaining to do. The large main room was filthy with black smudges above the sconces. Agent Dalcomb would not have rolled bodies for the paupers’ graveyard in the carpets strewn about the floor. Putting the best face on it she said, “I believe the former owner went to her ancestors some time ago. Shall we look further?”

No one screamed or fled. Dalcomb resolutely strode towards what she hoped was the kitchen. Lord and Lady Kath would have servants, but women always wanted to see where food is prepared. It was slightly cleaner, as if whoever was cooking here kept their own space up. Other rooms around the perimeter were somewhere between the two.

Upstairs was a lot like Nag Kath’s place in Dale; a large master’s room, two smaller bedrooms, a maid’s quarters and a privy closet but about half was open to the ground floor. Most had windows of real glass and the whole house would catch the rising sun. With the plateau behind them, no one got much of a sunset.

Mrs. Dalcomb did not know if the elegant couple were born to their titles or earned them until now. True nobility would have covered their faces with handkerchiefs and bustled out to open air. These two wandered about appraising the situation before all three walking back to the road. As if forgetting something, the Elf exclaimed, “Oh, my notepad! Mrs. Dalcomb, may I have the key to go fetch it?” She gave it to him and he went back while the ladies talked.

Inside, he used a drawing spell to raise himself up even with one of the main cross-beams to check the corner braces. He seldom used that sorcery. It was the same humor as bringing objects to him, but he could lift his own weight drawing from stationary objects. The changeling floated down without a sound and rejoined the women out front. Phyll gave him the chin rub to suggest it would serve; his cue to say, “It needs a deal of work.”

The agent said smoothly, “So it seems. We have a number of quality builders here in the city.”

“Can you have one tell us what is required?”

She knew that was reasonable, and that this Lord Kath was no one’s fool, a pretty thing, yes, but not like some of his ilk. The woman looked like she could make decisions too. The builder could find them at their inn after his review. On the way there Phyll muttered, “I feel I should boil my shoes.”

“Aye, it’s a troll cave. Otherwise perfect. If the roof and supports are sound, it can be made presentable. I have no idea what it is worth. I expected dearer than Osgiliath but less than the fifth. Legorn will know.”

Phyll said, “I will leave it to you. Now, let us get out of these clothes and think of something else to do.”

_____________--------_____________

Forgiven Kelvar was a sad-eyed man at the end of his days on high ladders. His son and two nephews did that now. He told the desk clerk that he was here to see the Kath’s and stood with his cap in his hand at the bottom of the stairs. The errand-lad fetched His Lordship who came down and shook hands, not something every gentleman did with workmen. They took chairs by a window.

“Well sir, I see it like this; it’s not falling down. The outside and supports are solid. But it will take a bushel of work before I’d sit my dear wife’s bottom inside.”

The Elf said, “I noticed the cross-beam supports were only single-ganged, hadn’t seen those before. We come from where there is snow and such would not serve.”

Forgiven was not expecting that from the elegant Dúnedain, one; he looked and two; he knew what it was. “That’s common here, but I would recommend Houl-braces in the corners against a stiff wind.”

Nag Kath asked, “Mr. Kelvar, what would it cost to make the place suitable?”

“Two Florin to be presentable, more depending on your tastes.”

“Between us, any idea what it is worth as it stands?”

“Not a groat over five. You don’t tell the agent I said so, but I’d offer four and see what happens. Mind, this will take months to do.” Forgiven looked around the inn and added, “You could do worse while you wait.”

Nag Kath said, “Thank you, Mr. Kelvar. What do I owe you?”

“Mrs. Dalcomb is paying.”

Nag Kath slipped him a nipper and said, “From now on, you work for me.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself, sir.”

They offered four. Kennaldir was outraged at such an insulting bid but hadn’t actually seen the inside either. On inspection, his counter offer of four and a half was split and the Kath’s paid in gold. Forgiven Kelvar could start work after he finished Mrs. Londigar’s chimney next week and got enough of an advance to add another lad who was good on beams. 

As he said, it would be a while, so Lord and Lady Kath continued sightseeing and spent a lot of time with Eniecia when Cal shipped-out for a month. The kids paid a lot more attention to their tall uncle when he was able to pull sweets out of their ears. In a quiet moment, Eniecia said she had lost a third child several months in and had not conceived since. That wasn’t normally man-talk but Uncle Nag wasn’t your usual grand-da. She allowed him to examine her quite closely while Phyll entertained the children. When she was dressed he told her, “I think there may be difficulty to start, but if it takes, another child should quicken with the room it needs to turn. Be patient …” he smiled, “But not too patient.”

“Thank you from me and my wonderful man.”

“Be his water blossom always.”

Most days Nag Kath stopped at the new house. Not that he did any of the work but this was his primary business in another life. Brenen and Bard's end of Kathen bought sound homes the worse for attention and fixed them up. Kelvar bolstered the rafters before his men saw to the roof slates. Those were in good repair. Phylless had opinions on colors and floors and all the things she was supposed to as work progressed.

_____________--------_____________

Checking an errand off his list, Nag Kath went to the guardi office and asked to speak to the head, not something many folk did. A senior Sergeant came from the back and said he was on duty while Captain Inoldus was in town and asked how he could help.

The Elf said who he was. A merchant, whose name he could not recall, told him of the dark symbol being seen on a merchant ship on the wharf. The Sergeant knew more of Lord Kath than most and asked, “Anything to do with your friends upriver?”

“The very same. It is a small thing, but if your lads should happen to see this symbol anywhere on a ship, or anywhere else, come to that, you might wonder their business. I am not in a position to instruct you, Sergeant, but I don’t know as I’d let them know you know.”

“Right you are sir. I expect there’s those who would be interested.” The moment that was out of his mouth, the Captain returned. It was the quiet man who had put the tail on the assassin whose house Mrs. Hürna called home. They recognized each other immediately. He had risen high enough to have a name. 

“Lord Kath, this is a pleasure. No secrets with Sergeant Lournes.” They recapped the short conversation as the guardi head held his chin and drank in every word. Looking in both faces, Inoldus asked, “Troubles from the east?”

“Probably just those wishing for the bad times again. If they are here buying supplies, you might add a maker’s stamp and see where they turn-up. For something more serious, I will be living here for a while and am always at the service of the Prince and King.”

That was the easiest bit of crime-prevention Inoldus had done in a while. He asked Nag Kath to draw the symbol on a few sheets of paper to show his walking Sergeants and wished him luck on the house. Lower guardi didn’t need to know those. They were good men, but why tempt them to tip bad ‘uns for a few coppers, eh?

Cal was back a bit early. They had a scrape with pirates and a skeleton crew brought a useable ship back into harbor. Repairs gave him at least two weeks on leave, probably three. He, Eniecia, his parents and the Kaths took in the first Catanard in the large amphitheater not far from the new house. It was one of the tragedies, which they still managed to make comical. The players were the best of the best where it mattered most. Painted canvases on frames were used behind the stage to depict different locations with musicians tucked away in front.

Nag Kath and Phylless strolled the piers. Warships were in the first cove, fishing boats had most of the second and the cargo ships, including those carrying passengers, were in the section closest to the causeway. Yet another nook was past that where people docked at will. Some of the berths held houseboats where people lived year-round, a bit like Lake Town. Toss a line off your porch and pull in dinner.

The house took two weeks longer than planned but Mr. Kelvar did a good job. The Elf gave him a bonus which included painting the thread shop. Their new home had Nag Kath’s first real office. He would almost never use it. Durnalath had been shopping for a cook all month and found a woman of about fifty who had recipes for dozens of local fish. She took the downstairs room next to the kitchen. She and Miss Fennel looked like peas from the pod but took a while to coordinate.

Getting furniture took almost as long as the building. It seemed the Woodworker’s Guild was at odds with the Leather-crafters. A dynastic marriage between children of the guilds had collapsed in infidelity. The argument persisted until the City Magister hauled the guildmasters before him with threats of fines if the two didn’t come to terms. The Kath furnishings were at the bottom of the page. Nag Kath put two straw bales on the veranda to watch the sunrise.

Their horses were bored. Nag Kath and Phylless made a point to ride at least once a week if it wasn’t raining and explored the mainland up and down the coast. Most of that had steep cliffs too but the ground was flat above. Sometimes Phylless put Eniecia on Charlo to get the woman out of the house when her Cal was at sea. Being a junior officer’s wife could get pretty dull. 

It took longer than expected but the Elf got an invitation to visit the Prince. It did not include Phyll so he guessed this was business. It was. Captain Inoldus was in the meeting room along with a grave minister of unknown age. Elphir was affable and asked him to sit.

“How has your new home progressed, Lord Kath?”

“We are in, sir. It took some doing.”

“Captain Inoldus you know. This gentleman is Minister Ghournalis who handles our defenses.” The men nodded. “Minister Ghournalis, Captain, can you tell our guest what you found?”

Inoldus took his cue, “I did as you suggested, Lord Kath, and had some of my senior men keep an eagle-eye out for those little symbols. They found two, both on trading ships. In one case; they brought nothing and left with sail cloth. In the other, they brought nothing and left with logs long enough for masts.”

Ghournalis spoke with a deep, rough voice. Despite his minister’s cloak, he was a soldier through and through. “That suggests folk we do not abide are getting supplies to build ships.”

Nag Kath considered that and said, “At worst. It may also be that a deckhand carved it in idle time. Sirs, I’ve never seen a pirate vessel. Where are those made?”

The Prince took that question, “They hide in the harbors of Harad. Some are captured from Gondor, merchant shippers caught by the faster corsairs. Most come from the Ethir Harnen above Umbar, unofficially, of course.”

Ghournalis added, “The King’s understanding prohibits them building warships, but we do not have many friends down there to complain.”

The Elf wondered, “I should have thought getting timber to those waters would be difficult.”

The Captain this time, “It is, but the builders pay bright coin for what can be had.”

Nag Kath held his chin without realizing it and said, “If you gentlemen are in the mood for a long story, I should probably tell you about Fûl.”

He did. These were high ministers of Gondor so the Elf told them anything he would have told Aragorn. They sat through the history quite well, asking questions every now and again but not making points. Wine halfway through smoothed. Nag Kath finished with, “Adherents of those opposed to Sauron replaced it to prevent the beasts from being summoned.

“Now here is what the Elves think; Sauron’s greatest servant was the Witch-King of Angmar. That is his sigil. He commanded the servants. I have spent most of my life seeking to destroy the sorcery he left behind. Like the trolls, I find surprises. Fûl is becoming the symbol of those opposed to the Reunited Kingdom. They can summon no great humors, but would have you think so and threaten those who resist. Doing so declares their sympathies, not very discreetly, it seems.”

The minister had paid close attention. Finally he remarked, “And those are just the ships we found. More may be used that have not shown their hand.”

Inoldus added, “And may not even know if they deliver to countrymen who then load them on different ships.”

The Prince put his hands on the table and said, “Nag Kath, you have some experience with this, what say you?”

“My Lord, I would squeeze the cloth and the steel. Wood they can get, men also. I do not know if those lands have iron ore but I do know that pig iron and scrap is floated down the Anduin by the barge-load, perhaps even finished parts. You seem to have found the cloth.”

The Prince concluded, “Gentlemen, I will send a letter to the King on tomorrow’s ship. Is there anything else?”

The iron inquiry bore fruit. A monger in Osgiliath had a hard time explaining why steel from north Ithilien arrived in Pelargir crated as roof tiles. Persuasive men arranged introductions to the monger’s friends downriver. That happened several times with perfectly respectable merchants until the practice was discouraged. Pirates still got their steel, but not nearly as much.

It was militia time. Nag Kath reported as the rankest trainee. The Sarn't had no idea who he was and the volunteer didn’t ask for preferred treatment. A bit old for the first time, they had him report to a cargo ship for sword and spear basics. Predictably, those went well. They also had him shoot the short-range bows for close-quarters as ships came close to bumping. On the second day he brought his Dale bow which got some snickers until he pegged a lantern three ships away. 

_____________--------_____________

Dol Amroth is a nice place to spend the winter. Warmer than upriver; it did get howling gales from time to time but overall fair. On pleasant days, Nag Kath and Phylless would walk the coastal trail from the point of the war harbor. Alone; he watched the waves pound the rocks for hours, often sketching or painting them. As usual, these were not traditional representations of nature. Most of those were drawn with ships on the surface and lords standing on deck. This was the raw violence of power against strength. They were never the same. He gave most of them to the ‘Widows and Orphan of the Sea’ office to sell for donations. A few brought quite a bit.

After the fury of his life in the north, the pause did wonders for his mind. Phylless was a lamb; warm and solid both. One of the few things he brought with him from Minas Tirith was the little spoon she fed him with. Her hair had started getting white strands. Unlike many women, she did not pluck them out. 

It took a while but Lord Erchirion and his wife came to dinner at their home. They would become fast friends over the years, and not because of obligation. They liked each other. Daughter Yeniel was still unmarried but she started spending several days a week in town at another princely charity office. Nag Kath knew if Tal was here, she would have a handsome fellow bring in contributions regularly. After a few months, one did that on his own.

In late spring, Cal came back from a longish trip and would be in port for quite a while. He had reached the necessary requisites for higher-office. The man could either remain in active duty on a five-year Captain’s track or government service. He could also move into commerce as a ribboned former officer.

Cal chose government service. He had always intended to. In his mind, he had the most wonderful wife in the world and knew she worried terribly when he was in harm’s way. She also wanted more children. More practically, he had been cultivated for the Foreign Service. As aide to an Ambassador, he caught the attention of Minister Vissan who still wore the robe. Being married to a Countess with diplomacy in her blood didn’t hurt. That and his father’s distinguished career suggested a bright future.

Belfalas was still fiercely independent. There wasn’t an emissary from the White City here looking over shoulders – even unofficially. King Elessar trusted Dol Amroth implicitly because they had earned it. The residency in Minas Tirith was the same as other fiefs, provinces and rare national embassies. The King used it for men of Middle-earth to talk and settle differences cordially. They did that at his horse farm too.

On that track, Cal would be here at least a year learning their own politics. That involved considerable knowledge of trade. Places in the modern world were what they made, sold and bought. You wanted a soldier to spot problems, but to deal effectively with others, you had to know what they wanted. Tallazh would have agreed.

The promotion meant moving nearer the citadel. The junior Ivandreds were well off but government service had not given them lordly resources to climb the hill. The principality expected you to afford the position. Phylless noticed when they could not find an even trade for their home and suggested Uncle Nag might help. He did. Eniecia found a house close to theirs which earned them occasional baby-minding duties when the couple needed privacy.

Nag Kath was good for more than a house. Never officially an ambassador, he knew a good deal about relationships between the western powers and was the only one who knew anything about the east. Phylless finally decreed that dinner conversation could not be more than half politics. That didn’t apply to yarns about the Hurms of Mordor or family intrigues in Khand. Those were entertainment too. 

Life went on through the mild winter. With iron strangled, more in Pelargir than here, they had fewer problems with pirates. A shrinking cut had the Haradrim less inclined give treaty violations with Gondor the blind-eye. The famous corsair Mentieu retired publicly with the wherewithal to repent his wicked ways. The age of war was in decline.


	20. The Drawing of Humors

**_Chapter 20_ **

**_The Drawing of Humors_ **

With the approval, if not the enthusiasm, of Phylless, Nag Kath wanted to explore a thread of magic. The Drúedain people of the north cape were said to have sorceries unknown to men. They aided the Rohirrim in the Ring War after being abused by them in prior centuries – an extraordinary gift – something only a sentient race could bestow. It earned them sanctuary in their lands by a grateful Elessar.

Nag Kath asked Elphir’s permission to visit their lands. That was fine with His Highness but it was up to the Drúedain. On Charlo he was told it would take ten days on a good road to cross Anfalas and reach Celyeten River. From there he was on his own. Most of the Drúedains lived closer to Rohan but the King’s protection included this small group, officially still in Gondor.

It was more like two weeks after a good soaking in the Ringlo delta swamp. He should have hired a lighter to sail him across. Occasional towns dotted the road. It was pretty. Folk along the road were friendly and curious that someone obviously from Gondor (they thought of Gondor as a mythic, far-away place) was tramping through their mud.

The Celyeten was an easier crossing and then another week to the large river inlet of the Lefnun. That was a considerable long bay and it took two more days on good road to reach a crossing upriver at a town called Annoduán. Nice people, good beer, plenty of questions about why he wanted to keep going west.

Some of the friendly conversation was about what he could expect since men did cross from time to time. For the first fifty miles he would see less of the same as on this side until he reached the lands of the Pukels, Woses as they were called here. Some people scared their children with stories of them. Others had seen them and they were simply shy, homely forest people. There was no trading so that was the end of it. A good ford a little upriver and he was in the King’s province of Andrast. The Drúedain were supposedly over a low pass that should be easy to see going west.

A trail led through a forest like Mirkwood with large, hovering trees that seemed to have eyes. He did not feel he was being watched by scouts, though. The greenwood did no more than look as he slowly led Charlo through a pass low enough that it never lost greenery. The windward side was steeper but they were though in two days. 

There was a presence on this side of the hills. Nag Kath could not identify it but he felt it. Perhaps he was felt too. Reaching a pleasant stream leading from a smaller, less ominous forest, he made camp and caught a fish for dinner. His plan was to stay here for a few days and follow his pattern of lazing about waiting for them to find him. 

He heard them on the third day but it wasn’t until the fifth that two of the creatures approached his fire. They did not look like tea drinkers. Nag Kath bowed and watched them enter his little camp.

In what sounded like Westron called from a deep cavern, one of them said, “These are Drughu lands. Why are you here?”

“I am Nag Kath come to pay my respects.”

The two looked at each other, seeming to communicate without speaking. Then they turned to him and were silent. They were the same shape as Dwarves but a bit taller. One was completely bald and the other with hair and a sparse beard. Garments were skins and rough cloth. He could not see swords or spears, just longbows slung across their backs and heavy walking staffs. Their arms were as thick as the Elf’s legs.

When the quiet was oppressive, Nag Kath said, I was about to take my nourishment. I hope you will share and tell me of your people.” 

That wasn’t appealing but it did make the one speak again, “You will come with us.”

They did not move for as long as it took to hastily stow his gear and load Charlo. As he walked the horse to them, they turned to trudge upstream. None spoke. It was at least two hours before they reached a clearing in the forest and stopped. Again, they seemed to speak to each other’s minds and waited. 

Nag Kath was good at waiting. He calmed Charlo, who seemed to have no concerns with these unusual creatures. Six more of them converged from the edges of the forest until they were about twenty feet away. One of the new fellows, dressed no differently than the rest, said, “These are Drughu lands.”

The Elf repeated, “I am Nag Kath and I come to pay my respects.”

They considered that. “You bring sword and bow.”

“I am a warrior of Aragorn. He used the King’s name from before his crowning since that was probably how they remembered him. They are not to harm you.” The new fellows carried bows too, said by some to launch poisoned arrows. There might be a few more Drughu behind the leaves.

It was fully five minutes of communication with no more than the sounds of birds. One of them said something in their tongue and others joined in. The one who did the talking said, “You bring sorcery here.”

“I heal.”

Nag Kath had heard the Ents took forever to discuss things. These lads got an honorable mention. The Elf added nothing else for their consideration. Finally, the speaker said, “You wait here.” Two of the new men stayed and the rest made into the forest. 

He asked the two guards, “Can I take his saddle off?”  
  


They looked at each other and one nodded, an indication this might take a while. Nag Kath stacked his gear and saddle against a stump and led Charlo to a nearby stream, taking a drink himself. The water tested clean. Walking back to the clearing, he took a bite of Lembas and sat near his things, careful not to have the bow or sword in easy reach. They did not know just how easy his reach was.

At dusk, the two sat down themselves, one at a time, after removing their bows and putting them in their laps. The Elf could not see their arrows. It they were tainted like the gangeos of the Greyflood, the tips would have to be kept safe. The day had been warm and the night only less so but the Woses kept their heavy skin coats on throughout. 

When he could not take his inhospitality anymore, Nag Kath broke off two large chunks of Lembas from his pack and walked to them. They accepted the gift and did not reach for their bows or staffs. The Elf bowed without a word and returned to his place. They nibbled the curious bread slowly but ate it all. In ways they reminded him of Nenwula of the Viersh, massive and powerful but delicate. 

In the morning, their comrades returned and the leader told Nag Kath they would proceed. The forest was a mix of pines and broad trees and not thick with tripping vines. They walked perhaps another three hours until reaching a large clearing with several dozen rude homes of hewn beams and earth. There were no chimneys. Smoke leaked from a few eaves. He was shown into one of the huts, leaving his weapons on the horse.

Sitting on a pile of furs were two creatures dressed like his minders. With the broad, weathered faces, there was no telling if they were older. The Woses gestured for him to sit on another pelt and waited until he was completely settled before one said, “You say you come in respect. You bring sorcery.”

He hadn’t used it so they could tell just from his nature. When the elders were silent, Nag Kath ventured, “I am the last of my kind.” There was no mention of his past or deeds or anything else. These folk would never have heard of him or anyone he knew, save the King, and that was a long time ago. Nag Kath also knew they had been granted these lands to avoid harsh treatment by men of the west. Dropping names would not serve.

“Why do you come?”

“I seek to meet all men of good faith, though I will return to my home if you say.”

The looked at each other, exchanging thoughts. Their faces did not show expression, not that he could tell. The speaker turned back to Nag Kath and said, “You can stay.”

Both Woses rose and walked out of the building. Without instruction one way or the other, the Elf joined them. Tribesmen and womenfolk gathered around with a few youngsters clutching at their garments. The women were considerably shorter than the men but otherwise the same. He felt for all of them. They had been shunned by men of the west, folk who should have been friends. The speaker in the hut spoke to them in a language unlike any Nag Kath had heard. There was nothing Elvish or mannish about it. A great deal could be expressed in very few words. They smiled, he thought, and returned to their business. One child stared but a thought from its parent hurried it along.

The Wose who had been silent in the hut approached and said in almost unintelligible Westron, “This is Elf magic?”

“From Mithrandir.” They would know him, no need to mention Saruman. 

The man reached on his tiptoes to Nag Kath’s head and pulled the hair away from his ear. “Nghummph.” That must mean the same in any tongue.

“Why you use?”

“The enemy lingers. I serve the King.”

“King comes?”

“No, I come alone, to learn, to learn from friends.”

“Nghummph.”

They walked to a thatch-covered post-and-beam open oven where women were combining meat, vegetables and grains in a massive cauldron. Stew! Nag Kath chuckled to himself that it was his fate. It was not time to eat and he was not offered any. 

A little further on was a small stone temple. The Elf was suspicious of temples lately but this was nothing like in Pelargir, perhaps a bit like the Kings of Numenor staring back home. The rock-work was good. Two Wose were chipping other blocks. Curious that they would live so rudely and yet craft such permanent buildings. Without beasts, these folk must be as powerful as Dwarves to place stone above waist height. 

There was a basin in the temple on a lashed-wood stand. Nag Kath looked at his guide for permission to approach, met with a small nod of approval. It was empty. He took the liberty of touching the bowl. It was metal, perhaps bronze, certainly too dirty to be a seeing mirror. But there was magic there; slight and original. The two walked back into the sun and sat in the weeds. His guide said, “Houlouch, me. Kath, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You heal?”

“Yes. Not Elvish. Not Elvish only. Sickness also.”

“Sickness?”

“Illness. People are hot, cough …” he coughed. “Wounds.”

“Nghummph.” Houlouch rose, “Show.”

They walked to the other end of the village. Nag Kath suspected they could run at a good speed when they wanted but at Dwarf height and their unique muscular build, walking was almost two steps to his one. They entered a hut where a woman who had not come to see him knelt over a small child. He, or she, was lying on a bed of furs and straw. The Elf had no idea of ages among the Drughu but he put it at four in mannish development.

The child was alert and frightened by the tall, smooth stranger. So was its mother until a signal from Houloush said the Elf was not a danger. Nag Kath leaned over the patient and held its forehead. It was hot. Then he rose and put his same hand on the Wose’s forehead as a benchmark. The child had a fever. The woman spoke to Houloush who interpreted, “He eat Zhund.”

“Poison?”

“Bad to eat.”

Nag Kath decided he had better find out what Zhund was. “Show.”

Zhund was evidently a plant used to make dye and cloth but not to ingest. The dye berries carried the toxin.

Well, he came here of his own free will. Nag Kath leaned over the boy and held his near hand with his own right hand. He placed the left hand alongside the lad’s face. As he concentrated and brought fourth the draw, the matching color of the Drughu was reddish, not unlike the Dwarfs’. It lasted minutes. Nag Kath felt himself weakening but held the spell until the boy’s color faded. Then he fell back on his bottom and felt sweat pouring down his face. Elves don’t sweat. These were tough creatures.

Nag Kath picked himself off the hard dirt floor and went outside to be sick. Houloush brought him a dipper of what he thought was water. It tasted worse than what he had just lost but imagined it had restorative powers if kept down. In a few minutes he was closer to normal.

Houloush went back in for a few minutes and then returned to lead Nag Kath away. The Elf spit and asked, “He is well?”

“Nghummph.”

That didn’t mean dead so he hoped for the best and was taken to an empty hut with his things already stashed. They had not been rifled. Nag Kath slept until the next morning.

Charlo was grazing in a meadow with long, lush grass. At no time had the horse been anxious. Two Woses were sitting on a log watching the beast and grinning. So they did laugh. Everyone should laugh. The Elf smiled back and whistled for his mount that reluctantly trotted over, knowing his master did not have any grain. Nag Kath watched people ladle stew from a communal bowl. One day's meal seemed to be new things added to the last night’s stew. He was able to avoid the meat pieces. Lembas was a blessing. The water was good and it was all these people drank. 

On the afternoon of the third day, a Wose came from the forest to general awe. This one was definitely older than the rest, moving deliberately. He was unarmed except for his staff. Houloush met him and they exchanged views in their tongue. Evidently the thought transfer was not for specifics. Then the two approached Nag Kath.

__________------__________

He was completely recovered after his long sleep and had seen the youngster at dinner the night before. Houloush said, “This Ourchor.” The Wose nodded but did not speak. Nag Kath gave him a slight bow. If he was here to pay his respects, this was the fellow. Ourchor directed them with his hand to a bower away from curious villagers and they sat cross-legged, not an easy thing with such short, powerful legs.

Houloush said with some reverence, “Ourchor heals.” News that the Elf was not a charlatan must have been sent. He did not know if the child’s ailment was routine or if he had done a valuable service. He did know the boy took enough energy from him to make him sleep nearly eighteen hours. No single illness among men had done that without considerable sorcery behind it. 

Ourchor held his right hand palm-forward to the Elf. Showing none of the concern he felt, Nag Kath met the hand with his left. His fingers were longer but the wise-man’s palm could have swallowed his. There was an exchange of color. It was not painful or draining but something transferred. 

Ourchor pulled his arm away slowly but registered the first look of surprise he had seen among these folk. He and Houloush spoke for several minutes, occasionally looking at their queer guest.

Houloush addressed the Elf, “Colegh?”

“Color?”

“Color.”

Nag Kath said, “It was a gift to find the nature of people. Your red color is warm and wise.” In all his long life, Nag Kath never mentioned to the family-centered Dwarves there might be Pukel-men in the woodpile.

Houloush, “Silver?”

“The color of Elves.”

“But not Elf healing?”

“Wizard.”

Nag Kath did not mind the questioning. These people wanted to be healthy and left alone. No swarm of Drughu would issue forth to conquer Anfalas. Ourchor seemed to be enjoying this and smiled while rising to say what Houloush interpreted as, “Tomorrow, we show.”

Tomorrow was a long way off so Nag Kath pulled his sketch book and started drawing these unique folk. As always, kids gathered round and he made quick caricatures of them to take. They would not have been more revered if Timalen had etched them in gold. Two women came; one smiling, one scowling. He captured them for the archive. Two of the men returned towards dusk carrying a deer for the pot. It was skinned and most of the meat used for the stew but other flesh was hung on tree twigs to dry for storage. Nothing was wasted. As it happened, one of the hunters was the father of the healed boy. He knew nothing of his son’s malady so the man must have been in the wild almost a week.

Men were very interested in his bow and arrows. He let them practice. Even with a Dun Breathen pull, they could have snapped it like kindling in those powerful arms. It did not take long to hit what they aimed at either. Upon request, a warrior produced one of their shafts for comparison. It had a steel head so they must either craft iron in one of the unknown number of villages in this forest or trade for some needs. Men carried daggers too, not fighting weapons but to cut food and plants for the necessities of life.

Tomorrow finally came. It was a day of worship at the stone temple. The man beside Houloush in the first hut was the Sayer. He filled the basin with water from a clay pot used only in the ceremony and prayed over it. It was all in their tongue and no one saw the need to tell Nag Kath what was said. Blessings must have lasted half a bell before there was that much longer in Saying and Response from the congregation. The children were better behaved than those of men having to hold still that long. These creatures held still very well. Ourchor was a spectator, so not a holy man in a spiritual sense. Nag Kath supposed him a high healer who might slowly travel at need, aligned with the powers worshipped here today, a specialist in flesh.

The Elf was taken to where Ourchor was staying, a hut like any other. With no windows, a board was set outside with a variety of herbs and roots upon it. A few looked local but most were common weeds found in most forests of Middle-earth. Ourchor seemed to be having a good time. He took a small handful of yerth leaves and ground them in a small bowl until not quite a powder. Then he added water and stirred them with his finger.

If Nag Kath had done that with the healer’s concentration, his finger would have shined. These people, any healer he ever met, did not issue a color but the Elf could tell power was being transferred. Then the old healer swiped a fingerful into Nag Kath’s palm. It glowed silver now, brightly! Not sure what to do with it, the Elf looked at Ourchor who wiped it off with his hand and smeared it back in the bowl.

Another bowl was prepared the same way and handed to Nag Kath. He stirred it with his finger. Nothing happened. Houloush received instruction and said what sounded like, “Pull, not push.”

Nothing. Showing no impatience, Ourchor held up his palm again to be met with Nag Kath’s. Ah; pull, not push. He wasn’t to add to the mix. He was to draw from it. Not sure how that would work, he tried again and his finger glowed slightly silver.

Oh my!

In his halting education in the magic humors of Middle-earth, Nag Kath had only ever drawn resources through himself. Nothing stayed. Nothing. Not ever. Learning of the water helped him focus that, find the source, increase the flow.

This! This was the acceptance of power into himself. It was small, benign, warm. But it was also the first time he had increased his powers, well, potentially increased his powers, through the acceptance of external enhancement.

It was also the sorcery he had purposely avoided, sorcery that the first, next generations of post-war men would have feared. Wizards had their staffs. More ominously, fell servants had their rings. More permanent than this herb putty, they stored and exchanged power with their hosts. They were precious to them.

Nag Kath wasn’t sure how much of that realization showed in his expression. He innocently asked, “What does this do?”

Ourchor knew enough of the question to cough twice. Houloush did too and said, “Chest.”

They went through a half-dozen of the different herbs or combinations. Two were for coughs. A combination of two was for fevers. Two more were for wounds, one cuts, one blows. And the last was for poison. That was what the lad would have gotten if the Elf hadn’t used his own sorcery. 

It dawned on Nag Kath that this was another way to bind his power to healing herbs. He had only seen it done for harm, excepting the horse purge on the river. This was his thanks for saving the lad before Ourchor could get here. He expected the old boy picked-up a few hints from the color exchange. He had too, but it might take as long as the Huntsman’s gift to identify. No matter. It was no different than all the texts he had accumulated with hidden meaning. Discovery was a matter of effort and wisdom.

That night they had a celebration of deer stew and water. Men sang songs. For one, the women sang and the men growled low hums, almost like the large drums lightly rattled in great plays. They were abed not long after dark.

On the road, Nag Kath thought this was well worth the effort. He learned something valuable about healing and was given a supply of all six ingredients along with his version of their impossible names. He had been welcomed to a fascinating race of men. He healed a youngster. The lad might have been fine anyway but it felt useful. And he just might have left something to make their lives a little easier after an age of being scorned in misunderstanding. 

Charlo knew the way.

______________-------______________

He got home on October eighth. Nothing bad happened. Cal and Eniecia were moved into their new home that had a room for the governess and cook, although Eniecia liked cooking too. Cal saw the need to keep fit after not being able to avoid it at sea. He and Uncle Nag often ran or swam to work-off diplomatic dinners. 

Phylless was glad he was back. She lay on his chest the way she loved and he told her of the queer forest folk. He also hoped they could continue as they were. The King had granted them lands in a place no one else seemed to want, but the hills and rivers of those provinces looked like other places that had farmers and towns and men of all kinds. Someday men would look across the horizon and see opportunity. 

Time compressed. Phylless was meeting people across the strata and they entertained or joined folk for all the many things to do in the storied port. Mrs. Hürna came occasionally. She had her own friends but kept them out of sight. Nag Kath knew better than to ask. She was fascinated by the Woses’ binding spells, making a few adjustments for mannish flesh.

Phylless and he often sat on the small porch looking at the boats bringing life to and from the harbor. If anything, she was more amorous than ever. She knew her man did not have a roving eye for the lasses fluttering their lashes his way. Eniecia privately told her that he was the same for her granna. He was in love.


	21. The Circles of the World

**_Chapter 21_ **

**_The Circles of the World_ **

Over the years, Nag Kath and Phylless alternated time between Minas Tirith, Pelargir and Dol Amroth. She let him take occasional trips to Dale by himself. One year they both went to the Shire to supervise bridging the ford he drew on his first trip. Most of the time, they were together. Grandchildren came and grew. Shurran and Penni had three babes, although Cal and Eniecia held at two. When Phyll’s time of change came, she had exactly the right husband who could ease her discomfort with a touch and herbs learned from the Elves.

Wherever they stayed, the changeling explored, visited friends and occasionally made new ones. Phyll like to sleep in. To keep from waking her, Nag Kath often went out with the dawn. One week he paid a locksmith to teach him how they work. He often took a book to read to children in the poorer districts. The tall man looked about as old as their da's who were often unlettered. Occasionally he would seem to read but tell his own outlandish tales. His spoken stories would have been sheer nonsense, but everyone knew written tales must be true. Other times he would show them how to juggle or sketch their pictures to take home. Runny noses seemed to get better. One special friendship was with Venaris, granddaughter of Sulvarn the merchant who was so helpful translating Haradric. He died only a year after they met but she married well and became a celebrated singer of both eastern and local ballads. One of her daughters had a lovely voice too. 

It was a time of profound joy for them but also tempered with inevitable loss. Phylless was about twenty years younger than most of the people Nag Kath knew from his emergence. Mülto died when he was seventy six, he reckoned that a good run. Sylveth was nearly eighty and died a year later. Whenever Nag Kath thought of her, he smiled knowing that fulfillment found her late but found her well.

Nothing came of the Witch-King. After the meat was pulled from the beast pool, no other threats gained strength. Ghost stories still frightened or entertained but nothing worse. The rings were gone. Dulgov’s first son was a bellicose fellow but not a strategist. Gondor and allies from Rohan convinced him not to send any more raiding parties. Nag Kath rode with the lancers and paid particular attention to whether the Easterlings claimed sorcery. They didn’t.

The Elf painted and worked with Timalen on larger projects. Of course, he and Phyll saw the Conaths and the Toroldinors often. Syndolan was not the same when they were away. Phylless’ parents both passed away in FO 54 of a fever sweeping Pelargir. It was not much of a fever, but they were old and such is the way of things. The Kaths went downstream to pay their respects. Back in Minas Tirith, she traveled less after that, only going to Dol Amroth and back every four or five years. They were a remarkable couple; he ever young, she aging gracefully. As her hair got whiter, people whispered he was her kept man. Neither of them minded. 

The year Fourth Age 56 started close passings. Talereth, always young at heart, began to fade. Not long after her 80th birthday she fainted and needed long rest. Ecc was ever at her side. She managed tea out a few times but after another fainting bout was bedridden. The Kaths and Ardatha sat vigil to give Ectillion needed rest. Tal stayed sharp and recounted all the lives and matchmaking and adventures each time. One morning she didn’t. 

Everyone took that hard. Talereth was a force of nature. The Kaths and Conaths stayed close to Ectillion. He was distraught. How could he not be? Fortunately, he had many friends from a career well-lived, the best of men.

Three years later, Ardatha caught a chest complaint she could not shake. Her father did everything he could for her but her lungs could not repair themselves. He was there with Reyald and Shurran when she closed her eyes for the last time. Torrold Conath died the same week in Dale. 

Nag Kath was stunned. His beautiful daughter, his son Brenen, Tal, all gone. There was no need for great remembrance. They made their marks in their time. Turnlie was long-retired but that was the year they lost her too.

Reyald considered going to Buhr Austar and living out his life but he was now 82. His son-in-law had been Thain in all but name for ten years. His grandson was heir. He wanted to see them, but they would have to come here. He and Ecc sold their large homes and bought a place together where they each had their own rooms but with common living areas on one floor and dedicated servants. Neither man’s knees could manage staircases. Phylless was an angel throughout. Her two oldest friends in the White City were with their ancestors beyond the circle. She had made many more but there was something about tea with Tal that made everything fine in the world. 

Those few years saw more passings than just family. Lady Éowyn and King Éomer both died within six months of each other in 62 and 63, Prince Elphir in-between. It was the closing of the War of the Ring. Younger people could not comprehend the horror that was largely erased within five years after Barad Dûr. It was hard for them to think of the old folk in the street as more than in the way of man-carts. The last of Nag Kath’s old friends, Timalen, Reyald and Ectillion all died in the year F.O. 65, of different things and reasons but now gone to legend after long lives. It happened so fast it almost seemed like one death, a mercy, perhaps. 

One should not think those years were all loss. Wives, husbands, children, and all of the people one knows from being friends with friendly people were everywhere you looked. Babies came to the world of men. Cal and Eniecia visited for a long time with their children who played with Shurran’s children. Queen Arwen presented her ageless husband with a girl-child in the year 64. They named her Millicend after a woman who cared for the King when he was young. Nag Kath did not see her until she was older but she was said to be a cheerful lass. 

After Eniecia and Cal went home, Phyll snuggled next to her Elf and kissed his ear. She was 66. For a few years after they married she was sure she would lose him to a younger woman someday. She had not considered it since. He was steadfast, as Brenen said; a marrying-man. Nag Kath still left for months at a time on his various projects to save the world. Those were getting hard to come by. Right-living folk visited from Khand. It wasn’t quite a pilgrimage to him, although some held him in awe as the prophesied rebirth of Orlo. He knew better, but still had to think of things for them to do on their vacation. They all said the Hurms were civilizing slowly.

About the same time, the Hobbits Meriodoc and Peregrin made a triumphant trip through Rohan with a long visit to the Glittering Caves and then came to live in the White City. They were both widowers and retired after long public service. At first they were granted apartments on the seventh but it wasn’t long before the drafty echoes of the palace did not suit the sociable Halflings and they took an apartment on the north fourth with a cook, soon two cooks, and a housemaid. 

The Kaths were in Dol Amroth and did not hear of them for a year. Back in the City of the King they dined together about every four months after that. Relations were cordial but sometimes Merry did not want to be reminded of the bad old times. He missed his wife terribly and, as Nag Kath could understand, one can be lonely in a crowd. Master Brandybuck died in the spring of F.O. 74. 

After a time, Peregrin invited the admirable Eustais and Patience Huskdorran to live with him. They were from Merry’s Buckland and enjoyed the White City tremendously, but could not remember why they left the Shire. Nag Kath saw Pip about every three months after that. Phylless was fascinated and the two of them would talk leaving poor Uncle Nag to fetch more tea. The Kath’s showed him the Fellowship picture on the third. The old Hobbit was sharp as ever and while he didn’t mind talking about the Ring Quest, he was more interested in the latest gossip north of the prow. They lost him in mid-summer of F.O. 80 at a ripe old age. Tumlen died a month later.

Every so often they saw the King. He and Arwen started riding more on the Pelennor with Millicend. Eldarion was a much larger presence, especially at civic and embassy functions. The young man took after his da with the same blue eyes and strong chin which he kept clean-shaven. Nag Kath got to know him when he deputized for the vacant position of international trade expert. Yet another Bror was more congenial and interested in reviving commerce. Oddly, he had not heard from Renalda in Dale for a year. She was his link to the region since so few of the northern relatives could write.

______________-------______________

There was another farewell to make.

In late F.O. 81 Nag Kath rode to Osgiliath and cut cross-country to Emyn Arnen. He presented himself at the palace. It wasn’t half a bell until the Chamberlain himself came to the reception hall saying, “Welcome, Lord Kath. The prince is resting now. I cannot say when he will be receiving.”

“Thank you, Emirin. I will take quarters at the Meadow. If Lord Faramir wishes to see me, I can be reached there.”

The Chamberlain said gravely, “Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here, sir.” The man summoned an attendant and told him to take His Lordship to the Heuron room. As he was led away, Emerin added, “Your bag will be brought and we’ll take good care of your horse. Oh, Lord Elboron should return from the south tomorrow. I will let him know you are here.”

Nag Kath knew this was hard and laid his hand on the retainer's shoulder, “Thank you for all your many cares.”

Chamberlain Emirin closed his eyes for a moment. Slowly opening them he managed, “I make you no promises. Your chance may come suddenly.”

Nag Kath made himself at home in the suite. He would rather have had a room at the inn with the bustle and conversations of people he didn’t know. Dinner was brought to his room. Wandering down the hall he was admitted to the family library where he pulled a book on King Turambar, of all people. It mentioned his northern Queen in only the vaguest terms. The Elf wondered that it might have been written from notes long after the man died. As sunlight failed he went back to his room for rest.

A respectful but firm knock on his door. Nag Kath called, “Enter.”

“Your pardon, My Lord. The Prince will see you now.”

It would be about the three-bell if bells were sounded at this hour. The attendant led him down familiar halls by lamplight and Nag Kath was shown into the bedchamber. Nearing Syndolan, a full fire was burning inside. The changeling approached and bowed. Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor and one of the last remaining war heroes, lay on his back with his torso supported by a stack of pillows. 

Nag Kath had not seen him in over a year but knew he was failing. The man coughed and then motioned him over. A smile to his nurse was her signal to leave. The Elf took her stool and held the colorless hand lying near the edge of the bed. The ranger squeezed slightly and rasped, “I am glad you came, old friend. Emerin says you may visit the sea soon.”

“Aye, My Prince. I will visit my grand-daughter there.”

Faramir coughed slightly and gathered his thoughts saying, “The water blossom! Those were good times.”

“I remember, sir. She is a granna four times now. One of the girls is our next Queen Nephtat.”

The Lord of Ithilien smiled at that before saying, “You have had many exciting adventures. My grandson …” Again, the dry cough as the Prince closed his eyes, willing his pain to wait. “My grandson keeps lore of the old days.”

“Indeed. A few years ago he asked me of the great books left in Imladris. I hope he is well.”

“He is. Say hello while you are here … I will not see you again, Nag Kath. Thank you for the water. Thank you for your service to the King ...”

Nag Kath waited to be sure Faramir had completed his sentence before saying, “It was my honor …”

The Prince hadn’t finished. He squeezed the Elf’s hand slightly harder, as if to be sure it was still there. Faramir licked his lips and barely breathed, “Boromir rests easier now,” as he drifted into sleep. 

Nag Kath gently laid the Prince’s hand on the bed and bowed his head between his knees for a minute. Lord Altheras forgave him for Helm’s Deep. Faramir forgave him for Nag Kath’s own spawn. The book was closing. 

_____________-------_____________

The next morning an attendant knocked again and said, “Excuse me, Lord Kath. Lord Elboron hopes you can join him to break your fast.” Nag Kath nodded and the fellow added, “Half a bell, sir.”

Elboron was already seated when the Elf arrived early. With him were his wife, Angalica and son Barahir. Born late in his parents marriage, Elboron was a young 66, barely half his father’s age now. Alas, his older sister was now with her ancestors. Elboron's first wife was of noble birth from the tangle of bloodlines in Dol Amroth. It was a loving marriage until she was lost to the same sort of wasting disease that took Eniece. Angalica, now 52, was a girl of a commercially important family in Osgiliath along the lines of Brenen’s and Bard’s in Dale, Tumlen’s folk too, come to that. She was a full-figured woman with a winning smile.

She gleamed, “Welcome back, Lord Kath. Thank you for your pains.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, my Lady. I was fortunate to see your Lord Father last night.”

Elboron added, “Yes, good of you to come. You are leaving for Belfalas shortly?”

“I am, sir, a short trip … maybe too long, though.”

The heir became quiet for a moment and said, “That is how da wants it. A modest soul, he hopes to join his ancestors quietly. He will rest next to mother and be the first of our line remembered here.”

Nag Kath said, “And it is good to see you, Lord Barahir. It looks like you have been fighting Balrogs!”

The young man had a small scar in the middle of a purple welt under one eye. It didn’t dampen his enthusiasm though, “Worse than Balrogs! I was training a new batch of line riders for the militia and got too close. It is good to see you again.”

Elboron finished a bite and asked, “Nag Kath, can you take a letter to Prince Alphros?”

“Certainly, My Lord, though I do not leave for a fortnight.”

The heir said, “This is not urgent, but sometimes the messenger sets the priority.” He raised an eyebrow which said a great deal.

Breakfast was pleasant, mostly the Princess asking about Nag Kath’s experience in Osgiliath. Her grandfather was an aqueduct-man and rented one of Kathen’s buildings until he could buy it on the way to success serving the Anduin trade. Never wanting, she was still a tradesman’s daughter and did not mind who knew. Neither did her husband. She took good care of him and he appreciated it.

Before the food was gone Nag Kath asked the heir, “Sir, has there been any word of the Elves of Emyn Vierald?”

“No, not in a while. They restored, made better I dare say, the fields and forests you visited. The Elves asked grace away from men. It is father’s policy to go when asked and we haven’t been asked. I expect that is because they left shortly after you were last there. It has been some time since we saw their splendid foods on the river.”

When they finished, Barahir jerked his head for the Elf to follow. They wandered back to the library and sat in two very comfortable chairs. The young lord asked, “What news, my friend? Have you discovered more secrets of the past?”

Nag Kath grinned, “Aye, Bara, none written, but you should come to Minas Tirith. I am off to Dol Amroth to see Eniecia but Shurran has all my files if I am not there … things that aren’t in the official archives. I scribbled notes after listening to the Elf-keepers in Rivendell.”

Bara wondered, “They seem fascinating creatures. They just appear when Elves have left?”

“So it seems. They are there, but didn’t get there. They have food but don’t grow it, ale too. How is your Sindarin?”

“Poor and getting worse. Most of the last two years I have been earning my Captaincy, including this black eye trying to whip farmers into soldiers.”

Nag Kath cried, “Sergeants! Bara, you need a couple of big, tough fellows who understand. Armies live on sergeants.”

“I’ve got them; archers and riders both. Thank you for the offer of your files. I will do that when I can. You understand we need to stay close.”

“Yes, sorry. Your grand-da was friend to me when I had few.”

Barahir stretched his long legs and said, “When I have time, I will write. Someone must record the deeds of recent times, not just the dusty ones.”

Nag Kath agreed, “I should think so. Mind, even men lived much longer then, so they had time. Some are the same story with new names.”

The young man considered that, “Like Lúthien and Beren?” The Elf was silent. Barahir continued, “We have such a situation now.”

Nag Kath smiled, “If you would write of the King and Queen, do it after time for contemplation, though it cannot hurt to innocently talk with those who remember them.” He was quiet for a moment, “I have seen much the same, married for over seventy years, all tolled. We could not have children and their Highnesses have two.” He looked directly at the young writer, “There is heartbreak in such tales.”

Barahir was not expecting Nag Kath to be so forthcoming. He knew Phylless was well-along in years and that she could not join him in the Halls of Mandos, if he made it that far. The heir said gently, “Thank you for your advice. I will ask of Shurran, perhaps when things are settled here.”

Nag Kath brightened, “Come to Dol Amroth too. Most of the archives are in private hands there. You won’t have any trouble with introductions. See the sights, catch some fish …” As if of the slightest weight, “Meet people your own age.”

Barahir nodded, saying, “I expect to be there before long. Prince Alphros is now eighty-six. Our houses need to remind each other of the ties that bind.”

The young man stood to shake hands, “Safe travels. I will see if father’s letter is ready for you.”

Wonder of wonders; The King and Queen welcomed a new daughter to their family in F.O. 85. They named her Inariel after a relative of Arwen. In a rather astonishing statement from the prim Penni, she cleared her throat at dinner and announced, “Nag, word is that alchemists shortly sold potions and creams said to restore lordship to men after their ardor has flagged.”

Shurran stared at the ceiling. Phylless grinned. 

______________-------______________

“Morning Nag. Thought you were going to Osgiliath.”

“After lunch, my dear. I need to get there before the herb shops close. Naerö’s infection cleaned me out of chalk-foot. Tumlath’s retirement party isn’t until evening. Do you need anything?”

Phylless gave that a little thought, “No, but mind, Shur and Penni are coming for dinner tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be back after porridge. You were dizzy yesterday. How is that?”

“Hadn’t thought about it, so, fine, I suppose. You know, you might get a Lustigga fish if you’ll be back in time to cook it. Bernielle wasn’t impressed with the catch yesterday.” 

It was hard to imagine Tumlath would ever retire. He probably wouldn’t, but the wine was the best and it was good to see everyone. When he got home, Bernielle was crying on the sofa. The cook/housekeeper often cried. This was different. She looked at the master but words would not come. Finally, she pointed up the stairs. 

Nag Kath took them three at a time to see Phylless lying on her back in bed, pale but at peace. A blood vessel behind her heart burst in the small hours. She would have been gone in moments. It wasn’t anything he could have healed. That didn’t make this easier. 

Phyll was 87, not two years younger than him. They had been together most of their lives. She was his best friend. People seeing the blonde man with the elderly woman could not fathom that he had aged in mind just as she had. Together they had seen the golden years of the King's Peace, welcomed Nag's great, great grandchildren into the world, seen things both fantastic and of home and hearth. 

For a time he did what he always did, he just did it faster. Phyll could walk the gradual inclines of Minas Tirith but not the switchbacks. His reliable arm was there to steady her. Since she refused to be carried like in one of his Kath Baths, she used man-carts for visits to the other levels. Bernielle was distraught. Calming her helped him. Soothing is healing too. 

Nag Kath missed the relatively younger women who came to Phyll for sage advice. She never had the audacity of Tal, but she was friend to many and was missed by more people than her husband could count. Vernaris sang her eulogy. He took her remains to rest in Pelargir next to her parents and sister. Nag Kath was never a believer that where you lay in death mattered. His problem was those who weren’t quite dead. In this matter he knew, as he had with Eniece, that people were of place. He was not. He would honor them wherever they found peace.

An Elf in the world of men would see everyone he loved die. He knew that, but knowing wasn’t feeling. His lovely women were his essence of feeling. Eniece was by his side for eighteen years as they both learned confidence together. He was confident and Flor was not, leading to tragedy. Phylless was ready for 50 years of mature love and friendship. He would miss her courage and humor and just being there. He knew he was lucky beyond anyone on earth. It would still take a lot of his endless time to heal.

This ends **_Mortal Time_** ,

the third book of **_Nag Kath_**


End file.
